Children of the Sun
by Ruthibobs
Summary: Grantaire had ignored him for a year and Enjolras had spent it pretending he hadn't lost his best friend. When he, Combeferre and Courfeyrac start at a university near him however, a run-in seems inevitable. Between old ruined friendships, new friends, and the revolutional society he sets up, the trio's lives become very interesting...
1. New Beginnings

**A/N: So this is set in England, in most of the Amis's first year of university. Stuff in italics are flashbacks to the previous two years of college.**

**Disclaimer: As i am not male, dead or French, I own none of the canon characters.**

* * *

"Nice place," Courfeyrac said approvingly, glancing round the cafe as he dropped into the chair next to Enjolras, making him jump.

"Do you make any sound at all, or have you spent so much time round your cats that you're starting to take after them?" he said dryly, pushing the drink towards his friend. "Caramel latte, as ordered."

"Where's 'Ferre?" he inquired, accepting the mug with a grin.

"Talking to the hospital about his work experience. Or rather, complaining. He doesn't like the person he's paired with. Hypochondriac."

"Sounds like someone on my floor," Courfeyrac said cheerfully, before splutting as he almost burnt his mouth on his coffee. Enjolras managed to hide his smirk behind his tea, instead pushing the glass of water to join the latte. "Thank you. Anyways, this guy is crazy. Convinced he's going to die next week. Diagnosed me with Polio within five minutes of meeting me." He frowned. "Though I know next to nothing about that."

"Combeferre doesn't think he'll be able to work with someone who keeps asking him to check his blood pressure. I don't blame him."

"Combeferre needs to relax. It's the first day, he shouldn't be thinking of work yet." He knew instantly that Enjolras disagreed from the look he was given. "Okay, let me guess, you've already met all your professors and joined half a dozen societies."

"And started one." Enjolras didn't bother commenting on whether or not Courfeyrac was right (he was). "You're secretary."

"Do I get to find out what it is?" Courfeyrac was used to being volunteered for things by Enjolras. "And why not treasurer? Combeferre's better at writing minutes than I am." The look he was given once again spoke volumes. "That was the one time! I'm better with money now!" When the look didn't change, he sighed. "Fiiine."

"It's called The Friends of the ABC," Enjolras told him.

"How many members?"

"Three." Courfeyrac laughed.

"Well good luck getting more members." He looked round the cafe again, searching for a change of topic. "How did you find here?"

"It was suggested by my neighbour. Not bad pricing really, and it's a one off instead of being in a chain."

"Cool." Courfeyrac studied his friend quietly for a moment. "You tempted to find him?"

"Who?" Enjolras asked blankly, pretending he didn't have a clue what Courfeyrac was talking about.

"You know who. Grantaire. His university is only a few blocks away."

"No," he said firmly, glancing down at his drink as he did. "He made his choice." Unwillingly, he was reminded of all the unanswered e-mails, texts and calls he'd sent after Grantaire had moved down to London, then the message which had come from his sister, simply telling Enjolras to stop pestering him.

"You should. And you should really stop speaking through looks," Courfeyrac commented, ignoring the glare he was given.

"I need to finish unpacking," Enjolras said quickly, downing the rest of his tea and standing to leave. Swinging his bag onto his shoulder as he strode through the cafe, he turned to apologise to the person he'd just hit. As he did so, he stopped suddenly and stared. "What?" he murmured, forgetting to blink or breath, recognising the man instantly just from the familiar curls of hair. Behind him, Courfeyrac was frantically texting Combeferre. The victim of the bag looked up from his phone and blinked confusedly.

"Enjolras?"

"Er, yeah." Silence fell again for a moment until he cleared his throat and continued. "Hi Grantaire. Long time no see."

* * *

_"This is crazy! How can every table be full!" Courfeyrac glared round the room._

_"Well there is double the number of students this week," Combeferre pointed out quietly. "The Upper Sixth are back from their work experience now, so they're going to be sitting at the tables they claimed last year."_

_"It's still not fair," Courfeyrac sulked._

_"Not much we can do," Enjolras sighed. His eyes lingered longingly on the table they had used last week as he suggested them finding an empty classroom._

_"You can sit here if you want," a soft voice said from behind Combeferre, and he turned to face the speaker. A student from the year above was leaning back in his chair, looking up at them. He was alone at his table, though the art work scattered round didn't leave much space for anyone to join him._

_"We couldn't do that," Combeferre insisted, at the same time as Enjolras inquired, "Are you sure that's okay?" and Courfeyrac excitedly burst out "Oh thank you!". The boy burst out laughing, smiling up at the trio._

_"Yeah, I'm sure," he replied, eyes focused on Enjolras as he answered his question. "You'll just get kicked out of any classroom. Here, let me move my junk." As he packed all of his work away, Enjolras and Combeferre slowly joined Courfeyrac in sitting opposite the older student._

_"You don't have to go," Courfeyrac said quickly as he stood to leave. "I mean, it's your table after all," he muttered as they all stared at him._

_"Please ignore our friend," Enjolras said. "He doesn't always think before he speaks. I'm sure you have other people you'd rather sit with than a few kids like us."_

_The older boy didn't admit that he had no friends inside the school, instead just resting a hand against the back of his chair. "I don't actually mind either way," he shrugged._

_"Then feel free to join us." Enjolras offered up a quick smile. "I'm Enjolras by the way. This idiot is Courfeyrac, and this is Combeferre."_

_"Grantaire." He accepted the hand Enjolras offered, smiling slightly as he did so. "Welcome to our Sixth Form."_

* * *

Standing in the cafe, Enjolras could do nothing but stare at Grantaire. The memory of how he'd first met the other man flashed to the front of his mind as he studied him, noting how much harsher his eyes seemed, and the paleness of his face.

"How... how are you?" he asked finally, almost talking himself out of saying anything.

"Fine," the blunt reply came. "I see you made it to London like you wanted."

"He doesn't look good," Enjolras heard Courfeyrac muttering behind him, and he sighed, knowing Combeferre would be practically running to get to the cafe now, probably fearing a fight. The fact that Enjolras had been furious with how his old friend had cut him off hadn't been a secret.

"So when did you forget how a phone worked?" he asked curtly, folding his arms to try and make himself less nervous.

"When I realised I couldn't spend my whole life hanging out with kids." Enjolras heard Courfeyrac wince. The almost two year age gap between Grantaire and Enjolras had been a sore point early on in their friendship, until they'd decided it didn't matter. Well, until he thought they'd decided it didn't matter, Enjolras corrected silently in his head.

"I won't waste any more of your time then." Pushing past Grantaire, he left without saying anything else, unaware of the fact that he'd left the other man looking after him, a small frown on his face. Courfeyrac breathed a sigh of relief and texted Combeferre again, informing him of the fact there would no longer be a fight. Settling back into his chair, Courfeyrac decided to wait and see if Combeferre would join him or try and find Enjolras.

* * *

"Please tell me you kept your cool."

"I didn't call him a complete and utter bastard if that's what you mean." Sighing, Combeferre ran a hand through his hair.

"That doesn't count," he pointed out. "Did you snap or yell at him?"

"Not exactly."

"You're an idiot."

"Like you'd be different," Enjolras snapped, turning and starting to resort his books on the small shelf above his desk. Combeferre couldn't really argue with this statement. He'd been furious with Grantaire when he'd had to watch the worrying Enjolras had gone through when he'd had no word from London, and his feelings hadn't improved after he'd finally sent a message. He knew that if he'd run into Grantaire himself, voices would have been raised.

"That's not the point. You want to find out why he suddenly decided he'd had enough of being friends, you're not going to find that out if you piss him off. He'll just disappear again."

"He told me why!" Enjolras shouted finally, spinning to face his best friend, the man who was practically his brother. "He thinks we're kids. Happy?"

"Yeah right," Combeferre laughed bitterly. "He didn't care when at college, I hardly doubt his views changed so much after he'd left." Part of Enjolras knew what he was saying was true, but most of him wanted to just believe what Grantaire had said earlier, if only to give him a reason for being so mad with him.

"Can we not just forget him for now?" he asked quietly, suddenly feeling incredibly tired.

"Sure," Combeferre agreed after a moment's pause. "Tell me about this new society of yours." Perching on the edge of the bed, Combeferre listened as Enjolras brightened up and started enthusing. He ignored the small voice in his head that was telling him to go find Grantaire and demand answers. He knew that would help nothing at all.

* * *

Courfeyrac's plan to stay in the cafe until he had finished his drink had been forgotten almost as soon as he'd decided on it. Instead, he ordered more coffees and watched Grantaire subtly, pretending to read his book to make sure no one called him on it. The changed student intrigued Courfeyrac. He'd never seen Grantaire drink a drop of alcohol - he'd always declared his addiction would only ever be to coffee - yet in the first hour alone he saw him work his way through several bottles. By the time the waitress came round to throw them all out, Courfeyrac was still sat on his own but with several mugs and a book before him, and Grantaire was practically lying across the table, an uncountable number of bottles surrounding him.

"I'll sort him out," he offered gallantly, smiling at the waitress, and was rewarded by a thankful smile and invitation to come back. "Come on, 'Taire," he said to the drunk, taking hold of his arm and dragging him upright, thankful that he was much stronger than he looked. As he pulled Grantaire's arm over his shoulders, he elbowed him before wrapping his own arm round him to take his weight. "I need you to tell me where you live, mate," he sighed, hoping Grantaire was awake enough to reply. He didn't want to turn up back at his room with drunk student from another university on his first week. Slowly he struggled but eventually managed to translate Grantaire's mumblings, and he managed to half-carry, half-drag him through the streets of London to his flat. Courfeyrac didn't think much of the place, but there wasn't much he could do. When the door was opened, Courfeyrac turned Grantaire over to his flatmate and walked away, already decided that Enjolras was hearing nothing about the end of his night. There were some things his flatmate did not need to know.


	2. Introductions

"So I'll be your personal tutor. You can probably tell I'm more of a Politics man than History or Philosophy, but I know enough. What exactly are you planning to do with your degree?"

"I haven't decided yet," Enjolras replied, studying his new professor. His age was impossible to guess but his eyes were friendly enough. "But I may go into Politics. I've always been interested in that, Professor."

"Call me Lamarque." He smiled at Enjolras. "Any help you need, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you sir- I mean, Lamarque." Enjolras gave a small smile in return.

"Now I'm sure you'll want to have free what is left of your day, and I have others to talk to as well, so I won't keep you any longer. I'll see you in lectures next week."

Standing, Enjolras grabbed his bag and bid his professor goodbye, leaving the building and stopping only to swear loudly at the rain which had started during his short meeting. Sighing, he hunched up and started to hurry towards the nearest building he recognised - the cafe they'd been in the previous night.

"Let me guess, another person who forgot their coat," Combeferre said without looking up from his book as Enjolras dropped his bag onto an empty chair with a thud.

"Who else? Ah, Courfeyrac." His question was answered as their friend flopped down in the chair Enjolras had been about to sit in, a towel wrapped round his shoulders. "Where did you get that from?"

"Barmaid. She's kinda cute," he grinned.

"You'll catch pneumonia if you don't wear a coat," Combeferre lectured idly.

"It was sunny half an hour ago!" Courfeyrac protested, Enjolras shrugging when Combeferre looked up at him.

"He's got a point," he called over his shoulder, heading for the counter. "Hi," he greeted the waitress.

"Let me guess, Courfeyrac suggested you could get a towel from here," she smirked, eyes flicking up to his mop of wet curls.

"...Yeah," he admitted, pushing his fringe back as it started to drip.

"Give me a sec." Disappearing, she was back moments later, offering him a bright red hand towel. "You look like you could use a hot drink as well."

"Tea please."

"You go sit down, I'll fetch it over."

"Thanks." Joining Combeferre and Courfeyrac again, he ignored Courfeyrac as he started to ask what he thought about the waitress, instead turning to Combeferre and glancing at his book. "Your tutor give you that? It's not one I recognise."

"He said it's the first thing we would be studying, so I could read it before lectures start if I wanted. What's your's like?"

"Friendly. We almost set off on a political debate until he remembered he had other students to meet today. I think I could grow to like him as a teacher." Enjolras fell silent for a moment. "I thought I saw him again," he said softly, so quiet that Combeferre wasn't sure at first that he'd heard him right. "When I was on my way there."

"Forget him," he said firmly, putting the book down for the first time since he'd been given it. "He's not worth your time, Enjolras." He lowered his voice so Courfeyrac wouldn't hear. "I heard you last night. I thought the dreams had stopped."

"They had." Enjolras shrugged. "There's nothing I can do about it."

"Like I said, forget him. Or at least try to." Combeferre reached over and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "We'll help, I promise."

"I know. Thank you."

"Just... try and not think about him too much." Combeferre went back to his book as the waitress brought Enjolras's tea, knowing his friend needed time to relax. Courfeyrac instantly started flirting and joking with her, letting Enjolras sink back into his chair, wrapping his fingers round his mug as he smiled slightly at his friend's antics, something which had never changed.

* * *

_"Remind me why we agreed to this?" Combeferre asked, an amused glint in his eye as he saw how awkward Enjolras looked in the club._

_"Because we're idiots," Enjolras growled, scouring the room with his eyes for Courfeyrac. "Where has that fool gone?"_

_"Over there, flirting with a girl from the year above us."_

_"Does he know she's in the year above us?"_

_"Nope." Enjolras cracked and smirked, waiting for the actions he knew were going to come. When she finally slapped him, the pair laughed quietly and high fived._

_"And now I know you're both kids."_

_Spinning, they turned to face Grantaire, who had arms crossed and a grin on his face._

_"Hey 'Taire," Combeferre greeted him, turning back to look for Courfeyrac again._

_"I didn't think I'd see you here," Enjolras commented._

_"The same could be said for you. Are you even old enough to be legally allowed in here?"_

_"No. Courfeyrac showed up at my house this afternoon with false IDs - I don't even want to know how he got pictures for that - and proceeded to plee with us to accompany him here so he didn't look like any more of a sad loser than he already does."_

_"Hence why you look like you'd rather be being burnt alive than being in here."_

_"Why are you even here? I didn't think you drank."_

_"I don't. My sister was coming, and I don't trust her to not get drunk."_

_"So you're on guard duty. That's thoughtful of you."_

_"You don't have to sound so surprised," Grantaire joked before peering round Enjolras to look at the bar and sighing. "Somehow I don't think I'll get a coffee from here."_

_"Nope, though they do serve good water." Grantaire laughed and leant on a railing, eyes searching the room slowly, relaxing visibly when he caught sight of his sister. Suddenly, he straightened and frowned. "Wait a minute, isn't that Courf...?"_

_"Yeah, why?"_

_"Stop hitting on my sister you bastard!"_

* * *

"Stop hitting on my sister you bastard!"

"Seriously Gavroche, I'm sixteen!" the waitress protested, while Courferac sighed and muttered "Why do I always seem to hear those words? Hold on, you're sixteen!?"

"Cradle robber," Combeferre murmured, not looking up, while Enjolras was jolted back to the present by the noise and focused on the kid who'd joined them. He couldn't be any older than eleven and was glaring up at Courfeyrac.

"Please ignore my brother," the waitress said quickly, shooing him away. "He should be at school."

"So should you," Enjolras said quietly, trying to keep his voice and expression none judging.

"I finished in summer," she explained.

"But still," Courfeyrac groaned. "Sixteen!"

"Maybe that'll teach you to stop hitting on random strangers," Combeferre suggested, a slight smirk showing.

"I'd best be getting back to work," the waitress muttered quickly when her boss shouted over at her, escaping before any more references could be made to her age.

"Okay then boys, what are our plans for tonight?" Courfeyrac inquired, grinning at his friends.

"Sleep," Combeferre replied.

"Sounds good," Enjolras agreed.

"Dear god tell me not together." They glared at Courfeyrac together and he shrugged apologetically. "Will you at least join me for one drink first, or do I need to start asking the students in my flat?"

"About time you got to know your neighbours," Enjolras smirked.

"Have you?" Courfeyrac retorted. The only reply he got was the blonde student pointing at his best friend, and he sighed again. "Fiiine."

* * *

Combeferre stood in the doorway to the kitchen/dining room/lounge for a few minutes before speaking, watching Enjolras cooking what looked like lasagne.

"Not often you cook," he commented finally, entering the room and seating himself at the table, looking over at his friend.

"I wanted a change," Enjolras replied, focusing entirely on what he was doing. "If I manage not to poison us, then I'll take that as a bonus."

"Damn it, Enjolras, what exactly were you expecting him to say?" Combeferre exploded finally, after another few minutes of silence. "'I'm so sorry for just ditching you like that, let's be best friends again?' It was never going to happen!"

"Why the hell are you bringing this up now?" Enjolras shot back.

"Because you're doing just what you did after he first left - changing everything about your routine and life so you can try and pretend he didn't exist. He used to love cooking for all of us, so you're making sure you cook so you can't be reminded of him if someone else makes your food. He got you addicted to coffee, so you moved onto drinking tea instead. He helped you with all your Classics work, so you almost dropped the subject. Need I give more examples?"

"This is stupid," Enjolras grumbled, turning his back on Combeferre and trying to ignore him. "I'm not doing that, I'm just hungry and you were busy."

"Right. I'm not an idiot, Enjolras."

"You know what, on second thoughts I think I will go out with Courfeyrac tonight," Enjolras decided suddenly, wanting nothing more than to get away from Combeferre. "You can finish cooking if you want." Turning, he refused to look over at him and instead stalked into his room, leaving Combeferre to groan and rest his head in his hands.

"I'm an idiot," he mumbled, before standing and turning cooker off. He knew Enjolras well enough to know that he wasn't going to listen to Combeferre now, not even to an apology or attempt at making peace. He still hesitated by his friend's door though, before shaking his head silently and making his way into his own room.

* * *

"Enjolras! Come meet the guys from my floor!" Enjolras had barely walked into the bar when Courfeyrac was dragging him across the room. "This is Joly, the medical student I was telling you about yesterday. Would you believe it, turns out it is the same guy as Combeferre is working with!"

"How much have you had to drink?" Enjolras asked dryly, before turning his attention to the people Courfeyrac was trying to introduce. The group either smiled or waved at him, and a few offered him drinks.

"I'm Joly," the first one said, "seeing as Courfeyrac failed to say which of us he was refering to. So you know Combeferre?"

"Have done my entire life. And I'm Enjolras, just in case you missed that idiot yelling it loudly." Everyone laughed, and the man next to Joly leant forwards.

"Laigle, but buy me a drink and I'll let you call me Bossuet."

"Post grad?" Bossuet nodded. "I thought so, I recognise your textbook. My cousin used to study Business and Management as well. How come you're with a bunch of undergrads?"

"I've known Joly since high school, we used to live next to each other. He came to live in my flat when he started college, as it was far closer than his old place." Bossuet shrugged. "Most of my old friends moved away when they finished their courses, and Joly was starting at Uni, so when he invited me to join him and his friends for the night, I accepted."

"Well, nice to meet you."

"You too."

"I'm Bahorel," someone suddenly announced from behind Enjolras, clapping him on the back. "Third year who somehow managed to get myself into halls of residence for a third year." Enjolras turned to see a face, which was grinning widely at him. "I'm just lucky like that."

"He also gets into a remarkable number of fights for a Geography student, so make sure you're never with him if he's getting drunk," the final student laughed. "I'm Feuilly, by the way. Studying Automotive Systems Engineering and Polish. I also work with a local garage, so if you have any troubles with your car, just gimme a call."

"He's our plumber and electrician as well," Joly added. "That's what his Uncle did, so he knows enough to fix whatever goes wrong."

"Sounds like you're a handy man to have around," Enjolras smiled, shaking the hand Feuilly offered. "And you're all staying in the same flat as Courfeyrac? You poor souls."

"Well, all bar Bussuet. He has a small flat he's renting, lucky begger."

"Lucky? That means cooking for myself!"

As they all laughed and joked, Enjolras found himself enjoying their company and ever, to his own surprise, agreed to meet with them again the next night. As they ordered the next batch of drinks, Courfeyrac excused himself, drunkenly stumbling out onto the street for a breath of fresh air. Leaning against the alley wall, he breathed deeply, feeling his growing headache start to ease slightly. Only moments later he saw the heap by the opposite wall, the bundle of clothing that looked like it was moving slightly. Staggering over to investigate, Courfeyrac groaned as he recognised the drunkard who had collapsed by the back door of the opposite pub.

"Seriously Grantaire?" Bending, Courfeyrac groaned again as he struggled to drag the older student upright. "I am hardly in a fit state myself tonight." Pulling one arm over his shoulders, he set off towards the flat he'd left the man at the night before. "Maybe you should just stop drinking," he continued, desperate for anything to fill the silence. "It can't be healthy, and you may get yourself home some nights then. Or you could call your flatmates before it got too late and warn them you're going to need picking up. I'm helping you again now, but that's it. I have my own life to lead, I can't keep on carrying you home every night. Though it would improve my muscles, you weigh twice as much as you look." Stopping for a moment, Courfeyrac leant Grantaire against a wall while he caught his breath, a worried look crossing his face at how the other man's head flopped to the side. Carrying on again, he walked as fast as he could manage, only stopping again when he reached the flat door. Seating Grantaire against the wall, he banged on the door and walked away, relaxing when he heard the door open behind him. Pulling out his phone, he started to reply to all the texts his new friends had sent, using the excuse of a pretty girl as his reason for suddenly vanishing and not returning. Sighing, he set off back towards his halls, suddenly feeling exhausted.


	3. Routines and Secrets

The next few weeks flew by, with the students settling into their own routines. All three went to lectures and seminars, and spent every evening in the Cafe Musain with the group of friends sharing Courfeyrac's flat, but that was where the similarities ended. Combeferre had his placement in the local hospital, and was sitting in on several Philosophy lectures (purely due to self interest instead of any actual need), not to mention the amount of personal reading he always seemed to be doing. Enjolras could spend hours of his week debating politics with Professor Lemarque, yet still found time to run his new society (for which he had enlisted most of their new friends - Feuilly especially was very outspoken) and attend any political, and especially protest, rallies. Courfeyrac spent half of his life in either a courtroom or a bar, insisting that having a drink after his visits was the only way to cope with the unfairness of the law. Part of his life he kept a secret though. The group all assumed he had girls all over the city, but whenever they asked too many questions he would just smile and say nothing, still leaving earlier than everyone else yet getting back to the flat hours later, sometimes not until the early hours of the morning.

That night was no exception. Laughing and joking, Courfeyrac winked at Joly as he left, ignoring all the teasing that followed him out of the door. Growing serious the moment he was outside, he made his way along the alleys he now knew quite well, searching every pub he passed. In the sixth, he found what he was searching for.

"Courfeyrac!" Grantaire called drunkly, raising his bottle in a toast. Courfeyrac sighed and made his way through the crowded room towards him.

"Evening Grantaire," he said wearily, looking round the group Grantaire was sat with.

"This is 'Parnasse," he slurred, waving a hand vaguely. "And Gaston and Garth. I live with them." Courfeyrac raised one eyebrow, vaguely recognising the man introduced as 'Parnasse as the flatmate who he generally left Grantaire with. None of the men was in a better state than Grantaire - in fact, they were worse.

"Do you have any other flatmates?" he asked softly, pulling the bottle out of Grantaire's grasp and placing it out of reach on the next table.

"Nope!" he announced.

"Come on," he sighed, dragging Grantaire up and out of the door as he waved at his friends. He once again talked as he walked, trying to keep Grantaire awake and stumbling along beside him. "You'll have to come back to mine for the night, I'm not leaving you on your own or with them. You really need new friends."

"You're a good friend," Grantaire mumbled, reaching up to pat him on the cheek.

"And you're a shit one." As he entered the halls of residence, Courfeyrac (not for the first time) thanked god there was no reception in his building. Finally reaching his flat, he unlocked the door and dragged Grantaire into his room, letting him flop down onto the bed. "Throw up on my bed and I'll kill you," he warned as he left again, making his way back into the hallway and down to the communal area. Sinking into a chair, he let his head hit the back and stared up at the ceiling. "What the hell have you done, Courfeyrac?" he asked himself quietly, shaking his head. "You bloody fool."

* * *

"There's a strange man in the bathroom," Joly declared as he burst into the room. Bahorel and Feuilly looked up from the table and stared at him for a moment before laughing.

"And where's he come from then?" Bahorel smirked.

"I don't know, but he was just getting out of the shower when I went in."

"Joly, relax. A stranger can't have got in here without knowing someone. He's not going to kill you."

"You think! He might!" And with that, Joly turned and ran off back to his room.

"Strange man," Feuilly muttered, shaking his head. Moments later though, the stranger was standing where Joly had just been, looking over his shoulder. Turning to face them, Bahorel laughed at the look of befuddlement on his face.

"Please excuse Joly, he's always like that. I'm Bahorel, this is Feuilly."

"Grantaire," he murmured, running a hand through his curls, messing them up even more. "Do you know where Courf is?"

"Courfeyrac?" The pair glanced at each other in amazement. "Uh, no. Why?"

"Can you tell him I left? Oh, and tell him thanks." Lifting a hand to them as goodbye, he vanished.

"Oh. My. God." Feuilly stared up at Bahorel. "Was that what I think it was?"

"If you think it was an extremely hungover student, then you'd be right."

"Oh come on Bahorel!" he cried exasperatedly. Bahorel shrugged and went back to eating his breakfast.

"Maybe, maybe not. Why don't you ask him?"

"Oh yeah, wonderful idea there! 'Hey Courfeyrac, hope you don't mind, but do you bash the shuttlecock from the feathered end?'" He stopped when he saw Bahorel staring at him. "What?"

"That may possibly be the best euphemism I have ever heard in my life," Bahorel said slowly.

"Why thank you," Feuilly grinned.

"Don't let him take the credit for it, he only learnt it because he watched Blandings with me last week," Courfeyrac laughed as he opened the fridge to find some food. "Who you talking about anyways?"

"Uh, no one," Feuilly said quickly, nudging Bahorel when he opened his mouth to speak. Bahorel simply rolled his eyes and continued.

"Feuilly was wondering if you were gay," he said bluntly. "Oh, and the guy from your room said to tell you a) that he'd left, and b) thanks."

"Oh, okay. Well, thanks for passing the message on, and Feuilly?" Courfeyrac winked at him. "No comment." As his friend's jaw dropped and Bahorel burst out laughing, Courfeyrac made his escape. He wasn't gay - at least, he was fairly sure he wasn't - but that didn't mean he couldn't have some fun.

* * *

When Enjolras heard the rumours about Courfeyrac being gay, he couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Are we talking about the same Courfeyrac?" he asked incredulously, looking round the trio of serious faces.

"Uh, yeah. There was some strange guy in his room last night and this morning he told us to say thanks to Courfeyrac for him and he certainly looked like something had been going on in there with the way his hair was messy and everything and he didn't seem to have any spare clothing with him and then Courfeyrac just grinned at them when Bahorel asked and walked out without answering and-"

"Joly, breathe," Feuilly reminded his friend. "Come on Enjolras, you know him better than anyone. Is he?"

"Not that I know of. Have you missed his constant flirting with anything in a skirt? Besides, you guys have been going on about how he must have girls left right and centre with him disappearing every night. You changed your minds so fast?"

"They may not be girls. That'd certainly explain why he's been keeping things so quiet."

"They have a point there," Combeferre said quietly. "I mean, it's not like him to stay quiet about anything normally."

"I'm still not seeing it," Enjolras said firmly. "Now, if you don't mind, we're meant to be having a meeting here, not discussing which team my friend is on."

"There's a rally in the area next week," Bossuet said from the far side of the table, speaking for the first time that night. "Something to do with equal rights."

"How come there's no girls in the group?" Feuilly asked suddenly. "I mean, we can't really go along to this rally as a group of all boys. We wouldn't be taken seriously."

"The only girls who come are generally on Courf's arm, and they never join in our discussions," Bahorel pointed out. "None of the rest of us know any girls properly."

"There's Eponine," Courfeyrac suggested as he joined them.

"She's the waitress."

"And?" Enjolras retorted, leaning forwards to stare round at them all. "She's joined in our debates before when serving us. If she's on a day off, I don't see why she can't join us, whether she goes to the university or not. After all, we are known as The Friends. Surely we should be friends to everyone."

"It's settled then. Next time one of us sees her, we'll invite Eponine to join us." Courfeyrac settled back into his chair. "So what have I missed?"

* * *

"So the others were talking of rumours last night," Combeferre started, looking over his glasses at Courfeyrac. "Rumours about you."

"If these rumours are about where I go at night, I can assure you I'm not sleeping with every girl in the city. Will you stop worrying now?"

"That's not what I'm worrying about."

"Oh." Courfeyrac paused for a moment. "Then please, go on."

"Part of it was where you go at night, but they were simply changing their theories on that due to these rumours."

"Ahhh, the rumours about me being gay." Courfeyrac laughed. "I thought you knew me better than that, Combeferre. I have been, and always shall be, a ladies man."

"I know that." Combeferre wondered silently when his patience was going to run out with the older student. "Who was the man in your room last night?"

"Just a friend," Courfeyed lied smoothly. "He lost his key for his flat and his friends either weren't in or weren't waking up, so I said he could sleep on my floor for the night. That's why he said thanks when he was leaving."

"Courfeyrac, I do know you better than that. I know you well enough to know when you're lying." Courfeyrac visibly deflated a little.

"Look, I can't tell you," he said quietly, glancing round the room. "Just trust me, okay? I think I'm doing the right thing here, though you and others may not agree. I'm just helping a friend out because I'm not sure who else will, but that friend is staying nameless."

"Just keep yourself out of trouble," Combeferre replied finally, after studying Courfeyrac for a few moments. "And the rest of us as well. And if you need any help... Well, you know where to come."

"So you'll keep it quiet?"

"I will," he agreed. "Why are you letting the rumours go on though?"

"Because it's funny," Courfeyrac smirked. "I'm giving them a week, then I'll crush them completely." He brightened up suddenly. "Hey, did I tell you Jehan's coming down for Christmas? He booked the tickets yesterday."

"That's great," Combeferre smiled, relaxing and picking up his latest book. "How's he doing at college? I haven't spoken to him for a couple of weeks now, haven't had time."

As the conversation slipped into safer territory, Courfeyrac breathed a sigh of relief that Combeferre hadn't fought harder for the name of the man. Somehow he didn't think the name Grantaire would be cheering anyone up.


	4. Medicine Rules, Okay?

Grantaire staying with Courfeyrac became more and more common over the following weeks, until eventually he was practically living there. Yet the rumours about Courfeyrac died down, as he showed up to more and more meetings with girls in tow, and Grantaire slept so late that everyone had left the flat before he stirred in a morning (or sometimes afternoon). Courfeyrac would be the first to admit that the situation was far from ideal, but there wasn't a lot he could do. He hadn't the heart to simply throw Grantaire out on the street, and he certainly didn't trust his old flatmates, so the older man stayed. The air bed that he had brought with him for Jehan to use during holidays got used a lot more than had been expected, and Courfeyrac even found himself liking never being able to stay the night at a girl's (it certainly got rid of any awkward early morning conversations).

When it started to get closer to Christmas however, one big problem arose. Jehan was coming for two weeks, and he was meant to be staying with Courfeyrac. As far as anyone knew, this was perfectly alright. Courfeyrac had a spare bed for this very purpose, and was best friends with the young poet. Grantaire was the last thing anyone would have thought of if they'd been asked why this couldn't happen. Courfeyrac dedicated a lot of his time to wondering how exactly he was going to manage this, but an idea had yet to leap out at him when his decision was made via another route.

"Evening Courfeyrac," Combeferre said absentmindedly, not looking up from his book as he answered the phone.

"Combeferre? You busy?" The other student sounded worried and Combeferre instantly started paying more attention.

"Nothing that can't wait. What's up?"

"Remember when you said if I ever needed help, to ask? Well, I need your help. I also need you to promise to keep it a secret from Enjolras."

"What sort of help?" he asked warily.

"Medical."

"Can't you ask Joly?"

"He'd want to know why this must be kept a secret." Combeferre had a bad feeling when he heard those words, but pushing it to one side he stood and grabbed his coat and car keys.

"I'll be over in five," he promised as he left his room. "Actually, where are you?"

"York Street. It's only short, you can't miss me."

"See you soon." Dropping the phone into his pocket, Combeferre climbed into his car, praying he wouldn't regret this. As he drove he let his mind drift back to the first time he'd been called out by his friends for an emergency, when he'd first decided medicine was the path for him.

* * *

_"'Ferre, we sort of need your help." Even over the bad line Combeferre could hear the mixture of pride and worry in Grantaire's voice. "Enjolras is refusing to go see a doctor or call his parents, but I'm not sure he'd be able to even walk back to mine."_

_"Where and what?" Combeferre sighed. He was used to having to be the most responsible, even though he was the second youngest in the group._

_"Up at the Castle, he was sticking up for someone and they turned on him."_

_"Not the what I was thinking of, that'd be why." As he spoke he was locking the house, thankful his parents were away for the weekend._

_"Oh. Er, possible concussion, definite broken nose, either bruised or fractured ribs, black eye, split lip, and various other cuts and bruises."_

_"Seriously?" Combeferre yelled. At least, he tried to yell. It came out as more of a squeak, and he could hear Courfeyrac in the background on the phone killing himself with laughter. "You're supposed to be looking after them, Grantaire! Right, I'll be there soon."_

_The lecture had started almost as soon as he was out of the car and could see what sort of state Enjolras was in. For once, Grantaire didn't interrupt or joke about anything Combeferre was saying, instead just keeping a worried eye on Enjolras and following whatever orders Combeferre snapped at him._

_"Well the good news is he hasn't got concussion, though god only knows how from the size of the lump on his head."_

_"And the bad news?" Combeferre hadn't the heart to tell Grantaire how he both looked and sounded like a worried parent._

_"He's at least one if not two broken ribs. I'm going to have to take him to the hospital."_

_"Can't you just strap them up?" Enjolras mumbled._

_"No I cannot," he snapped. " I never thought I'd see you being so stupid."_

_"Dad's going to kill me."_

_"You must have had a good reason for the fight." Combeferre followed the way Enjolras's eyes flickered to Grantaire and back. "Seriously, Enjolras? You know, you're right. He is. Now let's go."_

_"You really need to work on your bedside manner," Enjolras tried to joke as Grantaire helped him to his feet, but any humour in his voice was lost in the hiss of pain and grimace that he tried to hide._

_"Tough."_

* * *

"Have you taken leave of your senses entirely?" Combeferre growled as soon as he saw the medical emergency he'd been called for.

"Hear me out," Courfeyrac begged. "Something's clearly happened in the last year and he's changed and it sort of scares me a bit. Plus his flatmates are useless drunks and I don't trust them so he's sort of been staying at mine whenever they're too drunk, which admittedly is most of the time, but that's not why I called you here."

"No, that's just who you've been lying about for the past two months."

"He didn't ask me to lie, I did it for Enjolras, to make life easier for him."

"Dammit Courfeyrac, he looks like he's had too much to drink, nothing else." Combeferre ignored the little voice that was telling him Grantaire never drank anything stronger than coffee, pushing it to the back of his mind and instead looking round Courfeyrac at the man lying in a heap on the ground. "How much has he had?"

"Tonight? Nothing, I swear. We were just heading out when he collapsed. He's burning up, Combeferre, and I don't know what to do."

Pushing past his friend, Combeferre sighed as he crouched next to Grantaire, placing the back of his hand against his forehead. "Definite fever," he muttered, pushing the curls off his face. "And you say he just collapsed? He was fine before that?"

"Yes."

"Then it could be serious. We need to get him back to mine." He checked his watch quickly. "Enjolras should be out by now, we don't have to worry about that. Here, help me get him in the car."

"Thank you," Courfeyrac said with feeling, hugging Combeferre suddenly.

"Yeah, well, enough of that. Let's go."

* * *

"He won't stop coughing," Courfeyrac murmured, watching worriedly as Combeferre did more checks in the safety of his room.

"Pass me another blanket," Combeferre asked, listening to Grantaire's heartbeat and breathing.

"Do you know what's wrong with him?" Courfeyrac continued.

"Pneumonia," Combeferre decided finally, tucking the blanket he'd been passed round Grantaire and dropping into his desk chair. "He'll need medication, but that'll mean going to the doctors and we can't do that till tomorrow now.

"How come it came on so fast?"

"It probably didn't, it'll just have been the first signs you saw. Chances are he's been coughing for a while." Combeferre looked up at Courfeyrac. "It's late, you should probably be getting back to your room. You have work tomorrow."

"Thank you again," Courfeyrac said as he left the room, smiling slightly at Combeferre. Combeferre stayed where he was, thinking quietly as he watched Grantaire shiver his way through the night.

* * *

_"So you want to be a doctor." It wasn't a question. Combeferre looked up from his book as Grantaire's bag hit the ground with a loud thud, the art student smiling apologetically at everyone who turned to glare as he sat down._

_"You do realise you're supposed to be quiet in here," Combeferre said softly, clearly amused._

_"Eh, stupid library rules. The librarian's not here, so who cares?"_

_"Point. And yes, I want to be a doctor. Problem with that?"_

_"Nope. Just weird, finally meeting someone with a useful degree."_

_"Courfeyrac wants to do law."_

_"And? The last thing we need is more lawyers, and the same can be said for politicians before you started giving me Enjolras's course of choice."_

_"He wants to help people though." Combeferre could feel himself getting drawn into the argument as he put his book down._

_"He's one man. In politics, one man isn't enough. Being a doctor though, that's definitely helping folks."_

_"You can't say anything about Enjolras not being enough. You're hardly helping people yourself. What sort of a degree is Fine Art?"_

_"The only kind I can do. You know I hate Sciences and writing essays. Besides, art makes people feel better. I don't want my work to be locked up for people to pay to see. I want anyone to be able to see it. I want to inspire kids to draw as an outlet for their emotion, because that's what it is. It's a way of communicating. I want it to reach the people. I don't want my famous, but I want people to see my work and if they feel just a little better afterwards, then I will be a happy man."_

_"Well good luck with that." Combeferre decided not to tell him that his artwork always cheered him up. "And good luck if you ever have that argument with Enjolras. Now if you don't mind, I have an exam tomorrow and could really do with finishing revision."_

_"You'll pass," Grantaire said confidently. "You always do."_

* * *

A part of Combeferre missed the confidence Grantaire had made him feel during that first year at college, when he'd considered quitting and trying for an easier life. Looking at him lying on his bed, Combeferre sighed. It was hard, after everything that had happened, for him to admit that Grantaire was the main reason he was still going to be a doctor, but it was the truth. Grantaire had believed in him, and that had been enough to help. Silently, Combeferre realised that, in spite of everything he had told Enjolras about forgetting Grantaire, it was impossible. They couldn't forget an entire year. Grantaire was never going to leave their lives, not while they still remembered everything that had gone on before London. And while it was in his power to help, Combeferre would do, and the consequences be damned.


	5. Confessions

The next morning, Combeferre slowly stood up from his chair, stretching as he tried to persuade his aching muscles to work. Bending down, he checked Grantaire's pulse, breathing and temperature before leaving the room, flicking the kettle on as soon as he reached the kitchen.

"Morning," Enjolras said, glancing up from where he was sat at the table. "Wow. Hate to tell you this 'Ferre, but you look like shit."

"Thanks," he replied, rolling his eyes as he automatically made himself a coffee. "How come you aren't at your early lecture?"

"Lamarque's ill so we get today off. You got anything this morning?"

"Only errands." Ignoring how scaldingly hot his coffee was Combeferre started drinking, wanting to be out to get some medication for Grantaire before he worsened. "Right, I'm off. See you soon."

Enjolras watched him leave, frowning slightly. It was unlike Combeferre to hurry his morning coffee or run off without either breakfast or a conversation with whichever friend was nearby. Whatever his errands were, they had to be serious.

Hearing a noise from one of the rooms - a room he knew to be empty - he slowly stood and made his way over to the door, hovering there in case it had simply been something falling off a shelf. When he heard the noise again, followed by a groan and coughing, he quickly used the spare key to unlock the door, pushing it open. Flicking the light on, he stopped suddenly at what he saw inside. Hitting the light switch again, Enjolras backed away as fast as he could, staring at the now closed door in shock. Combeferre had a lot of explaining to do when he got back.

* * *

"Why is Grantaire in your room?"

Combeferre had barely closed the door to the corridor behind him when the question had quietly been asked. Sighing, he turned his head to face Enjolras, who had moved one of the kitchen chairs into the hallway, clearly waiting for him.

"He's ill," Combeferre replied softly. "Courfeyrac rang and asked me to help."

"There are hospitals."

"You know he doesn't like them."

"So you brought him here." Enjolras hesitated slightly before giving in to his worries and asking, "What's wrong with him?"

"Pneumonia. He should be fine within a week though. That's where I went, to get medicine for him." Turning, he tried to end the conversation and escape Enjolras's hurt look by unlocking his bedroom door.

"Combeferre," Enjolras called out suddenly, stopping him in the doorway. "Get some sleep, okay? I know he's ill, but you look shattered." Combeferre nodded curtly, shutting the door behind him and leaving Enjolras sat on his own again. The blond student stared at the door, unconsciously biting his lip worriedly. He still cared about the artist, and a huge part of him couldn't cope with the idea of him being seriously ill yet with him unable to do anything. Deciding that maybe a day away from the flat may be a good thing, he grabbed his coat and quickly left, shooting the door one last look on his way past.

* * *

"So this is your room," was Combeferre's greeting off Grantaire as he entered his room.

"Yes, and you're stuck here till you're better. Doctor's orders."

"You're not a doctor yet."

"And you're not our Grantaire." He didn't reply, just glanced away at the shelves, coughing every so often.

"That's one hell of a lot of books," he said finally, looking back at the medical student.

"Well you should know what I'm like when it comes to reading by now." Perching on the edge of the bed, Combeferre handed him the medicine. "Take it. No arguing, or god only knows how long you'll be ill for."

"What's the verdict?" Grantaire asked once he'd taken the medication, voice quieter than normal.

"Pneumonia. It's not too bad though, should only last about a week. I reckon you collapsed last night because you're stupid enough to forget to eat. Alcohol will not keep you alive, 'Taire." Combeferre glared down at him as he lectured. "It will only kill you faster. Hell, you never used to drink, why did you even start in the first place? How did you end up so bad after only a year? And tell you what, while you're answering that, you could explain why you cut us off so suddenly as well. One night you're perfectly fine with us all, the next you've vanished into thin air, your father refuses to so much as utter your name or admit he has a son, and the only word Enjolras gets to any of his attempts to contact you is your sister telling him to back off or she'll get a restraining order put on him. And no you cannot use your cough as an excuse to keep silent. You can tell me everything, and you can do it slowly and quietly and pause to cough if need be." Grantaire had to admit, Combeferre looked fierce in that moment, fiercer than he'd ever seen him before.

"I just decided my life needed changing. I couldn't hang round with kids forever," he replied, keeping his tone indifferent.

"Bullshit. Maybe you can make Enjolras believe that, because that fool will believe anything you say if it gives him a reason for all of this, and maybe Courfeyrac is too nice to actually ask, but this is me. You should know you can't fool me, I always could see through your lies. So I want the truth."

"It's kinda a long story," Grantaire said finally, looking down at his hands. "Which resulted in the fucked up life I now live. Happy?"

"Nope." Combeferre sat on his desk chair and folded his arms resolutely. "I want the full story. It'll do you good to talk, and you know you can trust me. One, I'm your friend, and two, doctor-patient confidentiality."

"I never told anyone everything."

"Grantaire, I trusted you with practically my entire fucking life." Grantaire's eyebrows shot up when Combeferre swore. "You helped me with a lot that year, and you were always there when I needed someone to talk to. So please, trust me now." Grantaire stared at him for a few minutes of silence, before nodding slowly.

"Okay. A lot of it comes down to stupid choices I made," Grantaire sighed. "The first one being sex." Combeferre sat back and listened silently without interrupting, guessing correctly that he just needed to speak continuously to manage to not stop. He even managed to ignore the coughs that sporadically interrupted Grantaire's speech.

"I guess I always knew my father had problems with gay people. We all tried to ignore his comments though - god knows he made enough of them about everyone and anyone. I've know I was gay for ages, but I'll admit it, by the time I was leaving to come here, I was more than a little attracted to Enjolras. That night you guys threw a leaving party for me, I came so close to kissing him. He pulled me off to one side to give me that art stuff and he just looked so happy that I liked it and then he hugged me and... God 'Ferre, I couldn't cope with it! I tried to stay away from him that night until it was late enough to make my excuses to leave. I didn't want to fuck things up and for him to hate me.

"On the way home I ran into an old friend of mine. I must have looked round because he said I clearly needed cheering up, and next thing I knew he was kissing me. He was as far from Enjolras as is possible, and I decided that was what I needed to make me forget him and that sweet look of joy in his perfect blue bloody eyes, so I took him home. My family were away for the weekend and I thought we'd be safe.

"My father was home before dawn next morning. I honestly feared for my life at first, he looked so damn furious. My friend ran almost instantly - you know, I don't think I ever heard from him again. My father was freer with his fists that morning than he ever had been before.

"Then he made his decision. Threw me out. Warned what would happen if I ever came back, then gave me ten minutes to leave. I grabbed a few things then got out as fast as I could. Never been back since. Never plan to. I didn't even hang around to say goodbye to mum and Amalia, I just ran. I've felt guilty about that ever since. I came straight down here. The bastard had insured me on his car, so I took it. Abandoned it soon after I reached London. I didn't have a plan, and I didn't care.

"First person I met was Montparnasse. He introduced himself to me after a few days of me being down there. By then I'd regretted dumping the car - I would have at least had somewhere to sleep then. Anyways, 'Parnasse introduced himself, said he'd seen me around and told me to clear off the streets before the police locked me up. Well, when I said I had nowhere else to go, he sort of took pity on me. Strange really, as he's a cold hearted bastard sometimes. He offered me a drink. I'd heard alcohol could make you forget and make you stop feeling, so I agreed.

"I got shit-faced that night, to put it bluntly. I have no idea what happened really, but I woke up next morning on his sofa. He offered me somewhere to stay, said that if I could afford it then they could do with a fourth person to help pay rent, and I accepted. He and his friends had a spare room, and I knew I could pay once I got my student load in September. Yes, I know I was stupid. You don't need to tell me this. They could have been anyone, but at the time I didn't care. The three seemed to practically live on alcohol sometimes, and I found myself joining them more often than not. That was the first reason I didn't reply to Enjolras - I was ashamed. Both at the reason I'd had to leave, and because I could feel myself becoming more and more dependent on a drink to get me through the day. He wouldn't give up though, and one night when I'd had too much to drink I rang Amalia. Asked her to get him to stop. Yeah she's younger than him, but by god she can make people listen. I've no idea what she told him, and I didn't want to know, but it worked. I started to get on with my life again, replacing him with a bottle of something strong. Trying to forget him is impossible, but without him constantly trying to contact me I was managing better than before.

"And then I got mad at him. My stupid little sister came down here. Wanted to take part in a protest, apparently something Enjolras had been talking about in college. He'd inspired them all to travel down and join in, so half the bloody school did. Including her, even though she went to a different college in a different town. You probably heard the outcome. It was eight fucking months before she woke up. The only reason she was there was him, and she nearly got killed because of it. You hear these stories all the time on the news, you just never think it'll happen to you. If he'd still been trying to ring me then, I don't know what would have happened. I'd probably have fucking killed him.

"My mother had a heart attack when she heard the news. Was dead within a week. My father pretended I didn't exist whenever he saw me in the hospital, and I drank more than ever before. Showing up there drunk as a newt pissed him off, so I took every opportunity. By the end of the first month, I was completely addicted. I was drinking myself unconscious most nights and unable to stop. Even when she woke up, I couldn't change my habits. My father whisked her off back home so fast I barely knew she was awake before she'd left, and I was where I'd started: alone, only this time I drank. By the end of the year I was drinking less, not that it made much of a difference. I was still rarely sober.

"When you guys showed up, I didn't know what to do. I wanted to scream at him, punch him, hug him, kiss him - all at the same time. Instead I did the only thing I could do. I shut myself off. Tried to stop myself from getting any more hurt than I already was. Told him the first lie I could think of as to why I cut myself off. Yes, it was completely unbelievable, but I had to say something. I couldn't tell him the truth.

"Courfeyrac stayed in the cafe that night. I drank more than I had in months, trying to forget the way Enjolras had looked at me. Courf carried me home afterwards and made sure I was safe. The next night, I don't know how but he found me again and did the same thing. This became a regular occurance, and I'll admit that I came to rely on him a little. I'm not entirely sure why, but at some point he started dragging me back to his instead. I've been sleeping on his floor for a few weeks now. He never gives an explanation, and he's always gone in the morning, but there's always water and Paracetamol on the desk waiting for me."

When he fell silent, Combeferre said nothing for a few minutes, thinking about everything Grantaire had told him. He had the feeling this was the first time any of this had been said to anyone, and he was grateful that Grantaire trusted him enough to actually impart this tale.

"How's Amalia?" he asked finally, voice gentle.

"Almost fine." Grantaire blinked back the tears which had been threatening to escape for a while. "She still can't do a lot of exercise, but otherwise she's back to normal. Same old sassy bitch she always was."

"Thank goodness for that." Reaching forwards, Combeferre took Grantaire's hand and squeezed it slightly. "Thank you for trusting me," he said softly. "Now go back to sleep, it'll do you some good. I'm heading out but I'll be back later. Enjolras knows you're here, but I don't know if he'll try and see you." He hesitated. "I'm still not pleased with how you treated him - in fact I'm still kinda pissed about it all - but I'm starting to understand a little. However, if you tell Enjolras anything, maybe miss out all the stuff about your feelings for him. He may not understand."

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not an idiot," Grantaire laughed, coughing again as he did so.

"Maybe don't put that one to a vote," Combeferre smiled.

It was amazing, he decided as he left the building and headed for the Musain, just how quickly you could forget what someone had done. He was still angry with Grantaire for how he had made Enjolras feel, but his main feelings at the moment were sympathy and concern, coupled with a strange joy that one of his good friends had been returned to him.

Combeferre was so lost in his thoughts that he missed the blonde student sat under a nearby tree, watching him. A few minutes after he had vanished from sight the man stood and entered the building Combeferre had just left. Enjolras needed to talk to Grantaire, and it wasn't a conversation he particularly wanted an audience for.


	6. Confrontations

Grantaire hadn't quite fallen asleep when he heard the door open but he was close. Keeping his eyes almost shut he watched the figure approach, face in shadow until he reached the bed. Pulling the chair closer, Enjolras sank into it, studying Grantaire's face as he did so.

"You know you can open your eyes," he said conversationally, leaning forwards on resting his arms on his legs. Grantaire smiled slightly and opened them, looking up at him properly before suddenly coughing violently.

"Hi," he gasped when he'd finished, struggling for air while Enjolras watched worriedly, clearly unsure on what to do.

"Are you okay?" he asked finally, glancing at the door as if Combeferre would walk in at that moment and know what to do.

"I'll be fine," Grantaire reassured him weakly, wisely not answering the question.

"Right. Hence why you're currently in my friend's bed."

"You know, when you say it like that, it sounds incredibly dirty," Grantaire joked, laughing quietly when Enjolras facepalmed.

"Shut up," he mumbled into his hand, actually talking to himself though Grantaire fell silent instantly. "I take it you're well enough to be making bad jokes then."

"I could change to being on my death bed if you'd prefer," Grantaire offered, a small smile on his face. After spilling his guts to Combeferre, it was easier to pretend that nothing had happened between him and Enjolras and things were the same as they always had been.

"I'd prefer it if you weren't," Enjolras smiled back, resting one hand on the bed near to Grantaire's. Grantaire fought the urge to move his own hand to cover it, instead swallowing nervously and glancing away.

"About what happened-" he started, at the same time as Enjolras opened his mouth and said "So I need to ask." The pair instantly fell silent and looked at each other for a moment.

"Please, go ahead," Grantaire said quickly, but Enjolras shook his head forcefully.

"No, you first," he insisted.

"I wanted to explain a bit about everything that happened," Grantaire said, speaking as quickly as he could and not meeting Enjolras's eyes. "I got thrown out and moved down here early, ended up with the wrong crowd and then my sister ended up in hospital after a protest and my mother died because of the shock." He took a deep breath. "At first I was too ashamed of how my life had become to want to connect with my old life, plus I wanted to just block it out, and then I was too furious to even consider it after everything with Amalia."

"I heard about Amalia. How is she these days?" Enjolras asked quietly, feeling the shame bubbling up inside him. He'd always liked the younger girl's spirit whenever he bumped into her, and the news that she'd been in hospital had been a shock the previous year.

"Almost normal." Grantaire hesitated. "I'm sorry."

"You told her you'd put a restraining order out against me." Enjolras sounded incredibly hurt and Grantaire moved without thinking, his hand moving those few inches to rest on Enjolras's, squeezing it lightly.

"Not exactly," he reassured. "I told her to ask you to stop. I knew that if you kept on trying I would just give up and go back to my old life, and I was already a drunkard by then. She had free reign on what to say. I only found out earlier that that was what she said. Combeferre told me. I plan to have words." He looked at Enjolras carefully. "So, what was it you were going to say?"

"I need to ask why you lied."

"Because I'm still ashamed of who I am. I'm a useless drunkard who is failing miserably at life. Courfeyrac doesn't even trust me to look after myself, he's been dragging me back to either my flat or his room since the first week of term. You didn't need me in your life. Hell, none of you do, only he didn't give me a choice."

"So that's why everyone thinks Courfeyrac is gay," Enjolras realised suddenly. Moments later he realised Grantaire's hand was still on top of his and he flushed, pulling it away as he jumped to his feet. "You still shouldn't have lied though. I don't care about the reasons, you shouldn't have done it. If you tried hard enough, you could sort your life back out, I know it."

"And you want nothing to do with me until after than," Grantaire said bitterly.

"You're the one who pushed me away," Enjolras reminded him. "You may decide you want me around when you're sober, but if you're changing your mind about me every time you have a drink - and yes I do know you'd been drinking that first night I saw you here, I could smell it on your breath - then this friendship isn't going to work. I mean it, Grantaire. Sort yourself out."

"I don't know if I can."

"Then I've nothing more to say."

Grantaire opened his mouth to try and stop him when Enjolras turned and headed for the door, sighing and closing it again when he realised that nothing he could say would work. His hopes rose when Enjolras hesitated by the door, but were dashed by the blonde student shaking his head and leaving, the door clicking shut behind him. Grantaire dropped his head into his hands and groaned, wondering how in hell he was ever going to manage to sort his life out.

* * *

"You bastard," Enjolras spat as soon as he entered the bar, glaring at Courfeyrac who instantly went white.

"I swear I was going to tell you!" he cried, trying to hide behind the small man sat next to him. "I just never got round to it and figured you'd be happier not knowing."

"You looked after him for months and never thought to tell me!"

"He needed my help!" Courfeyrac protested.

"You should still have told us! The last thing I expected was for me to find him in Combeferre's room!"

"Er, who exactly are you guys talking about?" the student next to Courfeyrac asked quietly, looking from one man to the other and drawing their attention. Enjolras smiled slightly when he finally noticed him properly.

"Jehan! Good to see you again, I forgot you were arriving today. And Grantaire." He glared at Courfeyrac again.

"Oh, he's your old friend, right? The one who was in the year above you and left without ever getting back in touch." The younger man nodded. "I remember you mentioning him."

"Courfeyrac has been looking after him every time he's got drunk since September, which by the sounds of things was every night," Combeferre told Jehan softly. "He's currently at mine because he's ill."

"You're both traitors," Enjolras grumbled, slightly less mad but still glaring as he flopped down into a chair and accepted the green tea Courfeyrac offered as an appeasement gift.

"Don't you guys only have, like, a single room though?" Jehan asked, confused.

"Yup. Halls of Residence suck. You'd do well to remember this for next year," Courfeyrac grinned.

"So," and Jehan blushed at what he was about to say, "doesn't that get awkward with, like, only one bed?"

"He sleeps on the floor," Courfeyrac assured him at the same time as Combeferre muttered, "My back and neck have yet to recover from a night on my desk chair."

"How long is he staying for?" Enjolras asked Combeferre.

"Until he's better."

"And then?"

"He can't stay forever," Combeferre said.

"You haven't seen his flat," Courfeyrac mumbled, trying to avoid Enjolras's eyes.

"How bad is it?" Enjolras inquired, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"Shithouse," he replied bluntly. "I don't think much of his flatmates either. They drink far more than he does and every time I've run into them at least one has been high."

"And him? Does he ever do drugs?" demanded Enjolras, sitting up.

"Not that I know of." Courfeyrac shrugged. "Personally I don't see it."

"I would have said that about Grantaire and drink though," Combeferre added, shrugging himself when Courfeyrac glared at him. "What? It's true."

"There's a huge difference between drinking and doing drugs," Courfeyrac insisted, turning his attention back to Enjolras. "Trust me here, I don't think he is. Even at his worst, I still don't think he's been high."

"The question that needs to be asked is what we're going to do about him." Combeferre sighed and looked round the small group. "He is a friend after all, or at least was. We all owe him something. Well, maybe Jehan doesn't, but we three do."

"I told him to sort himself out," Enjolras admitted. "Said our friendship wouldn't last unless he did so."

"And if he can't? He's got an addiction, and a serious one by the sounds of things. Him trying to sort things out will take major time and could screw his head up properly. From what he said he's grown to rely on Courfeyrac a lot, so we can't just shut him out entirely. Like it or not, he's become one of us again, in a way." Combeferre looked Enjolras in the eye. "We have to help him."

"So maybe we help. Doesn't mean he lives with us. We don't have space."

"I do," Courfeyrac started, but Enjolras cut him off.

"One room bedrooms are no place for two grown men, not the size of rooms we have. We have to be practical here. He stays in his flat." With that the conversation was over and talk drifted onto safer topics.

"You're scared to let him too close again aren't you," Combeferre said later on, once Courfeyrac and Jehan had left the cafe.

"After everything that happened, do you blame me?" Enjolras said softly, staring down at his hands. "

"Well at least you know now it wasn't your fault. He left because of his father. You can stop blaming yourself."

Although Enjolras agreed quietly, he kept silent about his true feelings on how much blame he owned. Some things he had never told anyone.

* * *

_Enjolras had always respected Grantaire's wishes that no-one looked at his art work. When he heard the art teacher raving about a certain picture however, his curiousity had grown too great. Combeferre and Courfeyrac had both bowed out of film night - Combeferre due to a family event, Courfeyrac because he, once again, was putting a girl before them - but Grantaire and Enjolras had decided to meet up anyway. This was how Enjolras found himself alone in Grantaire's room whilst he disappeared into the basement searching for snacks, drinks and a decent film._

_Seeing the folder lying on the desk, Enjolras couldn't help himself. It was already open, and he quietly started to leaf through the pictures, growing more and more impressed with each one. When he reached one though, his breath was literally taken away. The sketch in question was of a teenager, one instantly recognisable._

_Enjolras._

_His blonde hair was almost a halo around looks that Enjolras thought should belong on a marble statue of a god, not himself. Grantaire had drawn him sat on his bed surrounded by papers and books (as so often happened when Enjolras got lost in homework) and he could even remember Grantaire sitting there sketching one night, making jokes about how for once even he could do work at a study session._

_As he carried on looking through the drawings, Enjolras realised why he had been forbidden. Over half of them were of Enjolras. He had been sketched and painted in a variety of poses and places, yet in all of them there was an otherworldly seem to him, like he didn't belong on the planet or was not a normal mortal._

_Hearing the creak on the stairs, Enjolras quickly moved away and focused on Grantaire's bookshelf, pulling off the Upper Sixth classics book to take a look at._

_"The Aeneid is boring," he heard Grantaire say behind him and he turned to face his friend, book still in hand._

_"I actually like it," he replied. "Read it a few years ago. Could be better, could be worse. It's far preferable to the Odyssey."_

_"The Odyssey has more action," argued Grantaire._

_"Half this book is a war," Enjolras pointed out._

_"And the other half full of talking. Now are we watching this film or what?"_

_"What did you choose?"_

_"The Princess Bride. I still can't believe you haven't seen it. I thought everybody had."_

_Enjolras had to confess that he didn't see much of it that first time of watching. Instead his attention kept straying to Grantaire, noticing how the art student wasn't focusing on the film either but watching Enjolras, glancing away quickly whenever the blue eyes met his green. But it was what Enjolras saw in those eyes in the brief seconds before Grantaire looked away that scared him - a look of intense longing that he had noticed only once before but tried to ignore._

* * *

Remembering that look, Enjolras sighed. He'd seen the same look months later, during Grantaire's leaving party when he'd given him the sketchbooks, paints and brushes. That had been the last time he'd seen Grantaire, the other student having vanished the day after. Ever since, when Enjolras had thought of Grantaire he had remembered that look, and wondered just how much to blame he was for the disappearance.


	7. Visiting Old Friends

Jehan checked the map for about the tenth time in as many minutes before looking back up at the building in front of him. It certainly looked like student accomodation, but then so had the last building he'd walked into by mistake. That particular one had been offices, and their receptionist had not been impressed when he'd asked if she knew the flirt from floor three and, if so, could she please point the way to his room. Nervously he made his way over, grinning with relief when he saw the "Vote *insert person here* for President" banners hanging all around the foyer.

"Hi," he said to the woman behind the desk, bouncing on the balls of his feet slightly. "I'm looking for Courfeyrac. He's a first year, massive flirt, lives on the-"

"Third floor?" she interrupted. "Yeah, everyone knows him." With a knowing look that made Jehan blush furiously she gave him directions. Thanking her quickly he ran off, trying desperately not to drop any of his bags as he went.

"Jehan!" a voice cried suddenly, and the bags all hit the floor as Jehan found himself being scooped up into his friend's arms and swung round in the corridor. "I was just about to head out to meet you, I thought you weren't due in for an hour."

"Caught an earlier train," he explained quickly. "Now put me down you big brute, I can stand on my own two feet."

"God it's good to see you again," Courfeyrac grinned, grabbing half of Jehan's things as he set off back down the corridor, babbling away. "You won't believe half the stuff that's happened down here. We've made all these new friends, you'll meet them all tonight as half of them live in the same bit as me, and Enjolras set up this society that you'll most likely agree with, and the girls, well." He whistled then laughed. "It's nice moving somewhere with new girls, the ones back home were getting sick of me hitting on them."

"Give them till next year," Jehan teased, dropping his bags in relief when Courfeyrac unlocked his room. "These things didn't feel so heavy earlier, I swear."

"Well then, let's unpack later. You've got two weeks stuck in this room, I'll take you out for a drink first. I know just the place, and Combeferre should be there too." Linking his arm with Jehan's, Courfeyrac steered him back out of the room again, only just remember to lock it behind him.

"How is Combeferre? I haven't been in touch with him for a while, he stopped replying to e-mails about a month ago."

"His laptop broke and he refuses to use school computers for personal things." Courfeyrac pulled a face. "He's as bad as Enjolras for following the rules."

Jehan giggled at the look the receptionist gave them as Courfeyrac swept through the foyer, the older student beaming widely at everyone as he went. Leaning down so his face almost brushed against Jehan's ear, he whispered, "So how many do you reckon think we're now fucking?" Jehan spluttered from shock before laughing, his voice faint and high when he could finally speak.

"Jesus Christ Courf, I'd forgotten the comments you come out with," he gasped.

"I'm almost hurt," Courfeyrac laughed, still grinning evilly as he dragged Jehan across the park and into town.

* * *

"Combeferre!"

"Jehan!"

Jumping up, Combeferre pulled the younger man into a tight hug.

"I am so sorry about my silence this past month, blame Courf. He dropkicked my laptop because the internet froze." Jehan burst out laughing and hugged him back.

"He missed that detail out of his tale. So you need to fill me in on every thing from the past month, Courfeyrac misses out loads when he rambles on about "cute girls" and stuff."

"There's a lot to tell you then. What's he told you about the society? We spend most our free time doing that, if I'm being honest."

"You bastard," Enjolras spat as he charged in, drowning out Jehan's reply and causing Courfeyrac to try and hide behind Jehan, Jehan only just managing not to laugh as he did so. He watched the conversation between the pair progress before interrupting, asking who they were talking about. As Enjolras noticed him and replied, Combeferre tapped Courfeyrac's shoulder and pointed to the counter.

"You can get in the drinks," he murmured. "Get him something fancy."

Once the conversation drifted over to Grantaire's drinking and what they were going to do, Jehan fell silent again, listening carefully to their fears and suggestions.

"So Jehan, how's college?" Combeferre asked quickly, trying to stop the conversation between Enjolras and Courfeyrac from escalating into an argument.

"Busy!" he replied, catching on. "I've had to bring loads of work down here, essays and coursework and the like, so I'm afraid I'll have to be rather antisocial sometimes. It's worth it though, English is absolutely fantastic and I'm being allowed to study poetry instead of a book for one section of Literature."

"What did you drop?" Enjolras inquired as he finished his brew.

"French." He shrugged. "Figured I may as well, seeing as how I'm already fluent."

"And the second subject?"

"Just French. What?"

It wasn't just Courfeyrac who was staring at him. Combeferre and Enjolras could barely believe what they were hearing.

"Are you being serious?" Enjolras demanded at the same time as Combeferre said, "Jehan, you are seriously mental. It was hard enough doing four A-levels, and you're doing _five_? There's not even enough lessons in a week to do five!"

"Well I didn't want to drop either English, and I love Music, and I couldn't drop German because it's a fascinating language and I love writing poetry in it." He glared round the trio as if daring them to argue with him.

"What about Textiles?" Combeferre asked.

"I made this last week." Jehan smoothed down the lilac jacket he was wearing and grinned proudly. "What do you think?"

"It's gorgeous," Courfeyrac grinned back, ruffling his younger friend's hair.

"It's... certainly something," Enjolras admitted. "But still, how are you coping? It was hard enough studying for four subjects."

"It is pretty mental, but I don't really mind. No, I have got any free periods, and I do have to do a couple of lessons after school or in my lunch, but it's worth it."

"The universities want three subjects," Combeferre pointed out bluntly.

"Yes, but I want to do five," Jehan argued, folding his arms stubbornly. "Well, six if you include General Studies."

"You are out of your fucking mind."

Turning, all four stared at Bahorel, who was staring back at Jehan with a look that was a mixture of pure wonder and disbelief.

"You must be Jean Prouvaire. Courfeyrac's told us all about you," Joly said quickly from behind Bahorel, leaning forwards to shake his hand, wiping his own with a handkerchief right afterwards.

"Um, yeah. Joly, right?" Jehan's flickered towards Bahorel. "And... Bahorel?"

"That's me." Bahorel shook his head at Jehan. "And you have more brains than sense little flower." Blushing, Jehan tucked the flower further into his hair.

"I enjoy them," he mumbled.

"Ignore him," Joly advised, stealing Courfeyrac's keys before dancing out of reach. "We both forgot our keys and it's cold out," he pouted at the law student, doing the best bambi eyes he could.

"Tough, give them back," Courfeyrac said firmly, holding his hand out when Joly made no move to relinquish the keys. "I mean it. Keys. Now."

"But..." Joly started protested, only to be interrupted.

"We'll come back with you, that way Courf can have his keys back and you can still get into your room." Jehan looked round them all. "Would that work?"

"I suppose," Courfeyrac shrugged, hand closing like a flash around the keys Joly dropped at the suggestion.

"Excellent," Bahorel agreed. "Now start telling me about these six subjects of yours." He flung an arm round Jehan's shoulders as the poet stood and steered him towards the door, leaving Jehan only able to fling an apologetic look at his best friend, who was left bringing up the rear with Joly.

* * *

"Courf?" Jehan asked quietly at around 1am, having been tossing and turning for well over an hour. "You awake?" His only answer was a snore and he sighed, simultaneously pleased that his friend was asleep yet wishing he weren't. "Doesn't matter I suppose," he said softly, rolling over to face the bed. The moonlight hit Courfeyrac's face, not strong enough to keep him awake but just enough that Jehan could study his features: the strong nose, the few freckles scattered over his nose, the slight curve of his lips and tousled hair that Jehan longed to run his hands through. Sighing again Jehan quickly rolled away, trying desperately to think of anything but Courfeyrac, anything to quench the feeling rising inside him. He'd almost forgotten the crush until he'd seen his friend again, it having reared its head instantly. "Why does he have to look like a bloody god?" he mumbled, burying his face into his pillow.

He was still in this position five minutes later when there was a thud behind him, and he sat up quickly, turning his head to find out what was wrong.

"...Ow," Courfeyrac muttered, pushing himself up then rubbing his head and hip. "That hurt."

"No shit Sherlock," Jehan laughed quietly. "Falling off beds generally does that."

"Oh hell, I'm so sorry," Courfeyrac babbled suddenly, staring at Jehan in worry. "I didn't mean to wake you, I-"

"Courf, I wasn't asleep," Jehan broke in with patiently.

"Oh. Er, ignore that last sentence then." Courfeyrac gave his friend a quick smile. "How's the air bed?"

"Comfortable enough." Jehan smirked, not sure where his nerve was coming from but glad he'd found some. "You're welcome to find out for yourself if you want." Courfeyrac stared at him again for a fraction of a moment before moving, edging closer to him.

"Is it big enough for two?" he inquired innocently, eyes not leaving Jehan's. Jehan gulped when he realised just how close Courfeyrac now was, licking his lips unconsciously before replying.

"If it's not, your bed looks like it would be."

Courfeyrac moved suddenly now, crashing his lips against Jehan's as he tangled his hands in Jehan's hair, the pair falling backwards to the ground with Courfeyrac on top. That didn't stop Jehan from kissing him back, grabbing Courfeyrac's hips as he pulled him even closer, legs wrapping around the other man's waist.

The kiss was rudely interrupted as they rolled, falling off the air bed with a smaller thud than before, but a thud none-the-less. This fact didn't stop them for long however, and Courfeyrac started kissing down Jehan's jaw and neck as the younger man threw his head back and moaned.

"Fuck," he groaned when Courfeyrac nipped and sucked at his collarbones, hands clutching so hard that there were sure to be bruises left the next morning. Pulling back slightly, Courfeyrac ground down on Jehan and gasped himself as the poet rolled his hips up, bending to kiss him again deeply.

"Stop," Courfeyrac growled between kisses. "Now. Or I... cannot... be held... accountable... for what will... happen- Fuck, Jehan!"

"Just shut up and kiss me," Jehan breathed against his lips. "On second thoughts, bed." He arched upwards as his new lover's hands moved under his shirt, grazing up his sides. "Now." He bit Courfeyrac's bottom lip and smoothed his tongue over it lightly before murmuring, "Please, Courfeyrac. Or do I need to start spouting poetry to seduce you?"

"Are you sure?" Courfeyrac pulled back and looked Jehan in the eye seriously, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he did so.

Jehan didn't bother replying, simply pulling Courfeyrac back down for another kiss.


	8. Christmas

The next few days were sickening for the friends. Jehan and Courfeyrac were never-ending in their incredibly public love for one another, spending most of their time curled up in the same chair. Impromptu make-out sessions started at least once every thirty minutes, they were constantly calling one another 'darling' or 'sweetheart', and Joly walked into the Musain one morning demanding earplugs and a bed in a different flat. To say that Courfeyrac had spent most of his life convinced he was straight, he certainly wasn't paying attention to any girls when Jehan was around.

In the other flat, Grantaire was finally on his way to recovery. Two days before Christmas, Combeferre decided he was strong enough to be allowed out of bed, having to move quickly to one side ten seconds later when Grantaire practically threw himself across the room to reach the bathroom and shower.

"I'm heading out to the Musain," Combeferre called into the room as he collected his coat and wallet. "I'll be back in an hour or so. Feel free to help yourself to coffee."

"Mmhmm," came the only reply, Grantaire too busy stripping off and diving under the stream of hot water to actually say anything. The low moan of appreciation made Combeferre chuckle as he left.

Half an hour later, the artist had managed to leave the shower and was standing in the kitchen, waiting impatiently for the kettle to boil. As always he hadn't bothered drying fully, and the t-shirt sticking to him wasn't leaving much to the imagination when the two girls entered the room behind him. The first he knew of their arrival was a low whistle.

"Well damn girl, someone left us a present," the taller of the two laughed, smirking at the blush on the shorter blonde's face. "Loving the top," she grinned at Grantaire as he turned to face them.

"Er, thanks... I think."

"So which one you with? Mr Serious or Mr Seriouser?"

"I kinda know them both. 'Ferre's been looking after me though - I've been ill."

"That doesn't answer our question... Unless it's a threesome thing?"

"Whoa whoa whoa hold up a sec. No relationships beyond friendship going on there. Trust me. I was at college with them."

"Ignore 'Chetta," the blonde suggested, taking the kettle to fill up her tea before Grantaire could get at it. "She likes to assume there's scandal in every relationship."

"Makes up for my lack of getting any," Musichetta shrugged. She looked Grantaire up and down. "You taken?"

Grantaire refused to acknowledge whether he spluttered from her comment or the coffee being too hot.

"Gay," he gasped finally, thanking her friend for the glass of water she passed over. "Sorry."

"Shame."

"Oh god, we never even introduced ourselves," the blonde gasped. "I'm Cosette, this is Musichetta. We're in the rooms opposite the boys."

"Grantaire. I'm not even from this uni."

"You're up." The statement was full of shock - Enjolras hadn't been expecting to see Grantaire without prior warning. "'Ferre didn't say anything about you being better."

"Well he did to me," Grantaire replied, voice clipped and curt. "You must have missed the memo."

"How are you feeling?" Enjolras asked hesitantly.

"I thought you wanted nothing to do with me."

Nudging Cosette, Musichetta nodded towards the door, sensing the oncoming argument, and the two girls quietly made their escape.

"I said I want you when sober," he said exasperatedly.

"No you didn't. You said that this friendship wasn't going to work, that I needed to sort myself out, that you had nothing else to say." Grantaire suddenly froze. "Wait, what did you just say?"

"I want you when sober. You're a good friend - or at least you were - and if you weren't drinking then-"

"Shut up," Grantaire said quickly, shaking his head. "Just shut the fuck up."

"What?" Enjolras was completely baffled.

"I gotta go," Grantaire mumbled, pushing past the younger man to get to Combeferre's room. Once inside he wasted no time, grabbing his shoes and running out again. Enjolras stared after him dumbly as the artist flew out of the flat, never once looking back.

Grantaire finally stopped running when he reached the river, flopping down onto the bank and staring down into the water. "Bastard," he muttered. "You bloody idiot. Of course he'll never want you so stop bloody well dreaming. Live in the real world."

* * *

"Where's Grantaire?" Combeferre demanded that night as he entered the kitchen.

"He left," Enjolras said bluntly, not looking up from his paper.

"And you just let him?" Combeferre looked at his friend in disbelief. "It's two days before Christmas, snowing, and he's still ill!"

"And doesn't have a coat," Musichetta supplied helpfully. "I saw him run off from my window."

"They had a fight, " Cosette murmured.

"Enjolras? Care to explain?"

"Not really."

Throwing his hands up, Combeferre glared at them. "Marvellous. I'm going to go look for him, before he freezes to death or something. Oh and ladies, you are invited to spend Christmas with us." Spinning on his heel, he stormed out, considering texting Courfeyrac but changing his mind when he remembered Jehan. "When did life get so complicated?" he grumbled quietly.

* * *

No matter where Combeferre searched in the next two days, Grantaire was nowhere to be found. He refused to talk to Enjolras during that time bar to demand what Enjolras had said, sighing when he realised how Grantaire must have taken the comment.

Christmas morning dawned clear and bright. The friends had persuaded Eponine and her boss to let them use the Musain for the day on the basis that Eponine was there with them - something not even she complained about once they invited her to join their party. Courfeyrac and Jehan arrived an hour late, the older student carrying his boyfriend in a piggyback whilst both laughed helplessly. They were followed in by an amused Musichetta.

"Cosette is spending the day with her father," she informed Combeferre, "but he's old and boring. Oh hello, who are you then?" Her question was directed at Joly, who had been pushed over blushing by Bahorel. Combeferre, laughing, made the necessary introductions before escaping over to where Eponine was sat on her own

"You are allowed to join in," he murmured, smiling down at her. "You've been at enough meetings to know who we all are."

"Yes, but I only really talk to you or Courf." A comfortable silence fell for a few moments while they watched their friends.

"Thank you," she said suddenly. "For helping me escape my parents for today. Christmas with normal people seems fun."

"You brought normal people? Where are they?" he joked, settling into the chair next to her as she laughed.

"So how much of a surprise was those two hooking up?" She nodded over at Courfeyrac and Jehan.

"A pretty big one. It's strange, Jehan's normally not so public with his emotions, bar the poetry."

"Just as well I didn't ask Courf out then." She glanced up at him. "So, I kinda got you a present." Rummaging round in her bag, she eventually found the slim parcel and held it out. "It's not much, but happy christmas." Combeferre smiled when he saw the bookmarks she'd carefully chosen, each with a significant design or picture.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, kissing her cheek before he thought about what he was doing fully. He missed her blush as he pulled a small but perfectly wrapped package out of his pocket. "This is for you. Merry christmas."

"Oh 'Ferre, it's beautiful!" she gasped upon seeing the necklace, yellow roses twined round each other with one hanging down at the front.

"Oi, 'Ferre, get your ass over here!" Bahorel yelled across the room." You too 'Ponine. We're playing spin the bottle." Enjolras did not look pleased at this announcement.

"Is there a reason why you're torturing us like this?" he muttered darkly, but obediently sat next to Feuilly when Bahorel glared. Musichetta seated herself between Bossuet and Joly, flirting with them both as she did so. Joly was still blushing furiously but was flirting back slightly, while Bossuet simply looked shellshocked, as if he couldn't believe his luck. Jehan perched on Courfeyrac's knee and leant backwards into his boyfriend, contented expressions on both faces, and Bahorel drained his bottle before flopping down on Feuilly's other side and placing the bottle in the middle of the circle.

Seeing that the friends were waiting for them, Eponine glanced up at Combeferre and shyly asked, "Will you fasten the necklace for me please?" He swept her hair out of the way and fastened it, fingers lingering for a moment too long.

"Oi, do I have to drag you two over here myself?"

"I wouldn't put it past you, you big lump," Combeferre muttered, but he made sure Bahorel couldn't hear him. The pair sat between Enjolras and Joly, and Bahorel instantly grabbed the bottle.

"Me first," he grinned, grin widening when the bottle faced Musichetta. Leaning forwards, she gave him a quick peck on the lips before sitting back quickly.

"Sorry, I'm just not that into you," she said simply, smiling prettily at him as he laughed in response.

"Now Enjolras," he said firmly, holding the bottle out to the blonde who looked at it as if it were a poisonous snake. Slowly, he reached out and took it before closing his eyes and spinning it. His eyes shot back open when he heard the laughter, and he flushed when he realised who it was pointing out.

Combeferre shrugged, but inwardly cringed. Kissing Enjolras was about as far down his list of wants as was possible.

"Kiss kiss kiss kiss!" Bahorel and Courfeyrac chanted as the two friends eyed each other cautiously. Their kiss was, if possible, even shorter than Bahorel and Musichetta's, but the cheers that went up when their lips touched were deafening.

"Pass it over," Eponine laughed, holding her hand out. Her spin was fast and expert, and her face poker perfect when the bottle stopped pointing at Combeferre.

"It seems to like you," Feuilly laughed, not noticing how Combeferre was staring at his hands. Glancing up at Eponine, he slowly leant in, noses bumping as she moved at the same time. The awkwardness broken, they laughed together before she snuck in and kissed him, short but sweet. Combeferre automatically followed her as she moved back again, before remembering who was there and sitting back, not meeting anyone's eyes but once again staring at his hands. As such he missed the self-satisfied smile that crossed Eponine's face.

"I refuse to kiss anyone else!" Courfeyrac cried, pulling Jehan in for a long kiss which had the entire room crying for them to get a room when it became obvious that Jehan's tongue was deep in Courfeyrac's mouth.

"I think the game's over," Feuilly commented, high-fiving Bossuet and Joly at them having escaped while Combeferre glanced over at Eponine again.

"I'll go get some coffee," she said quickly, jumping to her feet.

"I'll help," he offered, and he smiled at her when she nodded, following her into the kitchen.

"Two weeks," Feuilly murmured, low enough they couldn't overhear.

"A month," Courfeyrac countered, pulling away from Jehan for a moment. "This is 'Ferre after all."

"Pftt, I give them ten minutes," Bahorel snorted. "Didn't you see him after that kiss?"

"But he's a gentleman, and she's under eighteen. Plus I think I know him better than you."

"And? Even gentlemen want to get some. And besides, we called you being gay and Enjolras and Combeferre knew you better but said we were wrong."

Enjolras buried his face in his hands and sighed, wondering how soon he could escape back to his room and work. His thoughts wandered to Grantaire, and he hoped the older student had found someone to spend Christmas with instead of being alone.

* * *

"Well well well, if it isn't the mighty R, returning to us after weeks away," Montparnasse called out mockingly as Grantaire entered the hellhole of a flat he called home. "Where've you been?"

"With friends," he snapped back, pushing past Gaston to reach his room. "I'll pay you rent tomorrow, I'm going to bed."

"It's Christmas," Garth called after him. "At least have a drink."

Grantaire stopped in the doorway and glanced down at his hands – hands which were shaking for want of the alcohol he hadn't touched for at least a week (he lost count of the days he'd spent at Combeferre's). His mind flickered back to Enjolras's words ("I want you sober") but then he remembered how Enjolras had hurried to correct himself and his resolve to quit faded.

"Thanks mate," he smiled, taking the bottle offered and flopping onto the sofa next to him. He paused when he saw the needle on the table, and glancing at Gaston realised that at least one of the flatmates was high.

"You joining in?" Garth offered.

"Him? Ha," Montparnasse sneered. "He's too scared. Admitted it before."

"It's worth it," Garth shrugged. "You won't know what it's like till you try some though." Indecision played out across Grantaire's face. "Oh come on mate, you'll love it, I promise."

Slowly, Grantaire nodded. Enjolras had made it pretty obvious he wanted nothing to do with him, so there was no reason for him to try and stay sober in any way, shape or form.

"Go on then."


	9. Houston, We Have A Problem

**A/N: So after this chapter we are now up to date on this story, which means updates could slow I'm afraid. College and work are bitches when it comes to writing.**

* * *

"You gave her a rose necklace yet you expect us to believe you're just friends? Are you actually that stupid?"

"Actually," Jehan interrupted, pausing in his packing to look over at Bahorel and Courfeyrac, "yellow roses mean friendship."

"...Yeah, whatever. This is 'Ponine, she'll just take it as a declaration of love," Bahorel laughed, making Combeferre sigh and drop his head into his hands.

"Just shut up about it, okay? Jehan, is there anything else you've forgotten or is that everything?"

"Forgot him. If you've forgotten anything, you can just come back down to pick it up," Courfeyrac smirked, pulling his boyfriend over for a kiss. The pillows hit them from both sides and they separated, rolling their eyes at their friends.

"No, that's everything," Jehan finally replied to Combeferre's question.

"I'll carry this for you little bird," Bahorel offered, picking up the heavy case easily. He'd grown fond of the poet in the fortnight he'd visited for, and was almost as sad as Courfeyrac to see the younger student go home.

"Wait a second please. Combeferre, have you heard anything from Grantaire?" Even though Jehan had never personally met Grantaire, he was still just as worried as the three friends about what had happened to him.

"Not yet," Combeferre sighed. "I've heard nothing since he ran off before Christmas. I'm not giving up though. Fingers crossed I find something soon though."

Making Combeferre promise to tell him the instant he learnt something new, Jehan hugged him tightly before skipping out of the door with Bahorel and Courfeyrac. He'd only been gone for a minute when Joly was poking his head into Courfeyrac's room.

"Has he gone?" Joly whispered.

"Yeah, why?"

"Thank you god I can sleep at last!" the hyperchondriac cried before running out of the flat to get to his first lecture of the day. Combeferre followed, laughing quietly to himself. He knew that Joly actually got on quite well with Jehan, but having sat through the displays of affection shown in public, he could imagine why Joly had hated his room being situated next to Courfeyrac's at nights.

* * *

Grantaire wasn't sure when he'd first found himself drawn to his flatmate, but when he realised what was going on he blamed the drugs. The world seemed a different place when high, and after a few weeks he stopped caring about the track marks on his arms or the way he was draining what little money he had left.

When the money ran out, he was already well on his way towards addiction.

Montparnasse surprised no-one by sneering at Grantaire and threatening to kick him out if he couldn't pay rent, but Garth surprised them all when he continued handing the drugs over, free of charge, meaning Grantaire could just about manage to afford to keep a roof over his head. The feeling that his friend was helping him out of charity was one Grantaire was not comfortable with and so, after a fortnight of accepting the drugs handed over, Grantaire snuck into his flatmate's room one night.

"'Taire? Mate, what's up?" Garth muttered, already half asleep, but he fell silent as soon as Grantaire slid under the sheets with him, one hand reaching down to undo his pajama pants. The sex was rough but satisfying, and when high Grantaire finally started to feel like he was paying his friend back.

But when sober the artist could see his world falling apart around him, the gap between himself and his old life and friends widening, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Waking in Garth's bed made him feel like some sort of prostitute but he never refused the drugs, instead allowing himself to be drawn further and further into his new life.

Being only a few streets away from the man he loved was hell, and seeing Enjolras in the distance one day sent Grantaire running back to his flat for fear that he would be seen and recognised. He didn't need sympathy or more likely anger from the blonde Apollo as he spiralled down deeper and deeper, that wouldn't help at all.

That afternoon was the first time he fucked Garth whilst sober, and he finally worked out what he was doing. Coming to the realisation that Enjolras could never want him as more than a friend had killed the man Grantaire used to be, so he was simply giving up. He enjoyed the drinks and the drugs, and he certainly wasn't complaining about the sex. If he ever moaned Enjolras's name then Garth either didn't notice or didn't care, and pretty soon they were sleeping together every night though for entirely different reasons - one for the company, one to forget another man.

* * *

The cries woke Combeferre instantly and he lay in bed for a moment, trying to persuade his brain to wake up and explain what was going on. When he finally realised it must be Enjolras he ran through to the other room, grateful for the spare key Enjolras had had made.

"Enjolras," he whispered once inside, shaking his friend's shoulder lightly. Enjolras was dead to the world but pale and shuddering, as if crying. "Enjolras, wake up."

"Grantaire!" he cried, bolting up as he woke.

"Shh," Combeferre whispered, pulling him into a hug. "Grantaire isn't here." Instinctively he knew that this dream was worse than any that had come before and as soon as he felt Enjolras's breathing calm he pulled back to look him in the eye. "Okay, you need to start talking to me about this. I know you dream about Grantaire, that much is obvious to everyone in this flat, but I need you to tell me what exactly it is you're dreaming about."

"It's just a stupid dream," Enjolras muttered, glancing away. "I'm fine."

"You see," Combeferre continued as if Enjolras hadn't spoken, "my gran used to say that the thing about dreams is, if you talk about them, they go away faster." He paused and his voice grew steely. "So as your doctor, I'm telling you to start talking. That way I may be able to help." His tone more than anything persuaded Enjolras not to argue.

"I dream about him leaving," he admitted, staring at the duvet pooled around his waist. "Him leaving in just about every way possible, for every reason possible. Recently, there's been a lot of fights causing him to disappear. The problem is, I can never find him again afterwards. It's like he just vanishes into thin air and I'm left searching forever and ever."

"How was tonight's worse? Because you haven't shouted in a while."

"He died." The whisper was broken-hearted and Combeferre gripped his friend's hand as it shook slightly. "I watched him die. We fought and he left, and then I found him again but I was too late. He was already dying when I found him. I held him in my arms whilst he died, 'Ferre, and I don't think I can go through dreaming that every night, I just can't!" Combeferre pulled him back into another hug as the tears started, not caring that his t-shirt shoulder was getting soaked. "It was my fault he ran out that day. It started snowing afterwards for god's sake, and he had no coat or anything and was out there on his own because of me. If he got ill or anything, it's my fault."

"He didn't have to leave," Combeferre pointed out, though inside he agreed with Enjolras.

"Have you heard from him at all?" Enjolras asked eventually, when he had calmed down again. The look that crossed his face when Combeferre shook his head could only be described as distraut.

"We'll find him," Combeferre said quietly, glancing out of the window at the full moon. "Don't worry about that. We will find him eventually." Looking back at Enjolras and his tear-stained face, Combeferre remembered the words which had made Grantaire leave and, for the first time, started to wonder if maybe Enjolras did want him after all.

* * *

"I'm at the Musain," Courfeyrac told Combeferre, draining his cup. "No, I'm not drinking, no I am most certainly not picking people up, I do have a boyfriend thank you very much, and who the heck do you think you are with all the questions, my mother? I'm here getting an essay written, or at least attempting it, and then I'm walking Eponine home because it's dark out. Yes, I'm still coming round to you guys tonight. It's film night, and I never miss a film night. Now if you don't mind, I need to pee. What do you mean too much information? It's a fact of life." He laughed when Combeferre hung up and dropped the phone into his pocket before heading over to the cafe bathroom. Letting the door swing shut behind him, Courfeyrac turned and stopped suddenly at the scene in front of him.

Grantaire was leaning against a sink with a man Courfeyrac vaguely recognised as his flatmate pressed up against him, the couple kissing like there was no tomorrow. Realising one of Grantaire's hands was missing, then hearing the low moan that told him where it probably was, Courfeyrac gulped and backed up, definitely not needing to see an old friend in this situation.

His foot clanged against a bin and Courfeyrac sighed, both men moving apart and turning to face him accusingly.

"If you have problems with people seeing you, don't make out in public spaces," Courfeyrac commented as flippantly as he could, eyes running over Grantaire to check for any injuries or signs of illness.

What he found was even worse.

Grantaire's sweater hid the worst of it, but it only took one look at the artist's eyes for Courfeyrac to realise the truth.

"Jesus Christ Grantaire! What the fuck made you think drugs were a good bloody idea? Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"Fuck you," Grantaire mumbled, grabbing Garth's hand and pulling him after him, pushing past Courfeyrac who was still standing in the doorway. Courfeyrac considered trying to stop them but instead let them go, staring after them as they left the cafe.

His phone back out of his pocket in seconds, he dialled one of the numbers he knew by heart.

"'Ferre? It's me, and Houston, we have a problem. In fact, we have a fucking big one, with a capital P, and it's name is Grantaire."


	10. Anything Is Better Than There

Courfeyrac was panicking properly by the time Combeferre pulled up outside the cafe, and he had barely had the chance to climb into the car before the medical student was instructing him to take in deep slow breaths, one hand resting lightly on his friend's shoulder as Courfeyrac obeyed. Once he'd calmed a little, Combeferre started driving, heading towards one of the parks.

"There'll be no-one around at this time of night, and from your reaction I think this conversation could do with being private," was his only explanation. He didn't want to admit that Enjolras's dreams were getting worse, and that the only way the blonde was sleeping was because of the pills Combeferre occasionally slipped him in a drink. Parking, Combeferre climbed out and waited for Courfeyrac to join him before walking along the paths to a bench which was tucked away in a corner, well away from where most people walked. "What's happened?" he asked, looking Courfeyrac straight in the eye and waiting patiently for the answer.

"He's on drugs," Courfeyrac whispered finally, tears pricking at his eyes. "Dammit 'Ferre, I don't know how to save him anymore."

"Tell me everything."

Courfeyrac passed on the tale of what had happened in the cafe as quickly as he could, letting all the fear and pain he'd felt upon seeing Grantaire pour into his words. Combeferre remained silent whilst he spoke, pulling him into a reassuring hug after he'd finished. Courfeyrac simply clung to his friend. Combeferre had always given off a calm and understanding air and, as such, he was the one they all turned to when they ran into problems, to person that everyone talked to when they didn't know what to do and, at that moment, Courfeyrac needed that more than ever before.

"What do we do?" he muttered.

"First, we need to find Grantaire. Once we have, then we stage an intervention. But most importantly, we keep this from Enjolras. It's the last thing he needs to hear. Now give me his address."

"You said that when you tried his flat last time they said he wasn't there."

"Yes, but you just said that he was making out with his flatmate," Combeferre pointed out. "Or at least someone you thought you recognised as his flatmate. I'm trying again."

"Can you..." Courfeyrac trailed off, slightly ashamed of what he was about to ask.

"Go on my own?" Combeferre guessed. "Of course. Look, go home, make yourself a hot drink, then curl up with some blankets and your laptop and skype Jehan. It's your three month anniversary tomorrow, it'll be good for the pair of you to talk."

"I miss him," Courfeyrac sighed. "And I miss 'Taire. I'd gotten used to him crashing at mine."

"I know Courf," Combeferre said softly. "Now come on. I'll drop you home."

* * *

The next afternoon, Combeferre stood outside the flat glaring at the man slouching in the doorway, refusing to let him in.

"Look, I know Grantaire lives here, so quit stalling and tell him that 'Ferre is outside," he practically growled.

"'Taire!" the man suddenly yelled over her shoulder, still giving Combeferre scornful looks. "Some posh boy wants a word!"

Grantaire slowly appeared in the background, almost vanishing again when he saw who was on the doorstep. Combeferre had to push past his obstructor and grab Grantaire by the arm, dragging him outside once he'd made sure the man had shoes on.

"We're going for a walk," he gritted out, not giving him a chance to find a jacket. "We need to talk."

"So talk," Grantaire snapped once they'd reached somewhere quiet.

"It's been three months," Combeferre started, turning to face him. "Why the hell haven't you spoken to us? All we needed was a call - anything to let us know you were still alive. I've been worried sick 'Taire. We all have."

"Liar," Grantaire interrupted.

"Even Enjolras." Combeferre's voice softened slightly, but not by much. "Every day he asks if I've heard from you. Every. Single. Day." Grabbing Grantaire's arm, he pulled it up and pushed the jumper sleeve up and over his elbow. "And what the heck do you think you're doing with this?" Combeferre was much stronger than he looked, easily stopping Grantaire from pulling away. "You're killing yourself, Grantaire. I thought you were stronger than that, better than that. I never thought I'd see you addicted to something so dangerous and just downright wrong. You're breaking the law here."

"I'm not addicted!" Grantaire protested, ignoring the rest of what Combeferre had said.

"Then prove it. Quit." Combeferre sighed when Grantaire's gaze faltered. "I knew it. You can't. How long's this been going on for 'Taire? Because there's an awful lot of marks on this arm."

"Since Christmas." Grantaire's reply was so faint that Combeferre could barely hear him.

"You have to quit," he urged his friend. "This isn't coming just from your friend but also a doctor, or medical student at least. If you don't quit, this could kill you, and I'm not willing to just stand by and let you do that to yourself. So please, for your own sake, stop now."

"How much does he hate me for it?"

Combeferre knew exactly who Grantaire meant.

"He doesn't. He doesn't even know yet. Only me and Courfeyrac do, and we won't tell anyone. You can trust us."

"I know I can but... I don't know if I can do this."

"As long as you are in that flat," Combeferre warned him, "with fellow drug addicts and constant access to it, you can't do it."

"I've nowhere else to go," Grantaire tried to explain, but Combeferre interrupted again.

"There's always somewhere. We'll find you a room somewhere. Anything is better than that place, trust me."

"I can't afford a room somewhere else," Grantaire whispered.

"Between the two of us we can," Combeferre said firmly, cutting Grantaire dead when he tried to protest. "No arguments. If you feel that strongly about it then you can pay me back someetime, okay? So think of it as a loan for the time being. I can afford it, trust me. But if you don't quit, I won't help. That's the condition. You agreeable?" Grantaire simply nodded. "Good. The quitting starts now, 'Taire. Now come on, let's try and find somewhere for you to live. And if you ever need any help at all, just call. No matter what time of night or day it is. I mean it."

"Thank you," Grantaire whispered.

"Anytime." Combeferre smiled over at him warmly. "That's what friends are for."

* * *

The shouting match between Grantaire and Montparnasse wasn't quite as bad as had been expected when Grantaire announced he was leaving, though Garth did look quite disappointed. Grantaire avoided him almost completely at first, only walking over to say his goodbyes when what few belongings he still had were packed.

"Thank you," he said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder lightly. "For everything. You made life here bearable."

"Good luck with quitting," Garth replied sincerely.

"Won't you consider it as well?"

The older man shook his head.

"Nah. I'm too far gone now, plus I enjoy it too much. I don't care about the effects any more."

"Then enjoy your life." Grantaire's tone was completely serious and Garth just nodded goodbye as the art student grabbed his bags and walked out of the flat for the final time, joining Combeferre by his car.

"All ready?" Combeferre asked, slinging the bags into the boot when Grantaire nodded. "Excellent. Let's go then."

The flat he had chosen for Grantaire was only small but it was homely, a one-room bedsit with a tiny bathroom poking off to the side.

"Are you sure about this?" Grantaire asked for the hundreth time since the suggestion had been made, making Combeferre sigh exasperatedly.

"For the final time 'Taire, yes I'm sure. I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't."

"Does he know?"

Grantaire's question was almost silent he was so quiet.

"That you're alive and I've seen you, yes. That you don't want to see him yet, yes. Anything else, no. Frankly it's none of his business. Oh, but Courfeyrac is calling round to see you tomorrow. He's missed you."

"He's a good friend," Grantaire smiled. "I look forward to seeing him."

"I'll leave you to get settled in then." Combeferre glanced round the flat one last time before picking up his keys and heading for the door. "See you round 'Taire."

"See you later 'Ferre," Grantaire replied, starting to unpack. "And thank you once again."


	11. Withdrawal

**A/N: An apology: I didn't mean to leave this story for so long. However, thanks to revision it was just easier for me to focus on the story I was having lots of ideas for, and I kinda lost the first part of this when I wrote it originally. Hopefully now I've stood down from college I will have the time to write more and I can update this more quickly.**

**Warnings: This chapter includes stuff about drug withdrawal. All I know about this has come from research I've done this past month.**

**All political views in this chapter belong solely to the characters and are not necessarily my own. I end up in enough political debates at college without arguing my views here as well.**

* * *

Grantaire was determined to quit, he really was, but the first night in his new flat he came close to giving in. The urge to just go back to his last flat, or even find a dealer somehow, was growing stronger and stronger by the minute and it was all Grantaire could do to fight it. He wasn't doing it for himself - he'd long since stopped caring about his own life - but for Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Grantaire knew how disappointed his friends would be at him if he failed in this, could remember clearly the horror and anger present in Courfeyrac and Combeferre's eyes respectively, and had no desire to see those expressions again anytime soon.

He'd already fallen once, before even leaving his old home. Whilst he'd told Combeferre he'd stop taking the drugs he hadn't been able to stick to it, not even for the three days he'd stayed before moving out. The cravings had struck almost as soon as he woke up the first morning clean. They were crippling and he could do nothing but curl up on his bed and try to hold himself together. That was how he had been found by Garth in the late afternoon when his friend had got worried by the fact he hadn't seen Grantaire all day. Grantaire had looked a mess, his hair stuck to his face with sweat as he tried desperately to ignore the aches and stabs of pain tearing through his body.

Grantaire had barely lasted two days since his last fix when he gave in, taking the needle Garth had left on his bedside and injecting it into his arm with shaking hands.

Obviously he hadn't told Combeferre, didn't want to lower himself any lower in his friend's estimations, but Combeferre had known all the same by the lack of symptoms present when he showed up to help Grantaire move. He'd said nothing, simply sighed and asked again if Grantaire was sure.

Grantaire was.

The move from Montparnasse's flat to one of his very own was what Grantaire considered as his new start. He'd sworn to himself as he left that that was it. From that moment on, he was going to be clean.

The fact that he'd already given in once was what kept Grantaire going that first night. The shame he'd felt afterwards was clinging to him still and made him strong enough to somehow make it to the morning, though he didn't manage to get any sleep whatsoever.

When he heard the doorbell ring, Grantaire forced himself to stand and make his way over, blinking tiredly at Courfeyrac who was standing there awkwardly.

"Er, hi," Courfeyrac mumbled, flashing Grantaire a quick smile. "How are you?"

"Take a fucking guess," Grantaire sighed, holding the door open for him.

"Right. Stupid question." Courfeyrac hovered for a moment before entering the flat, hesitating again before hugging his friend. "You'll survive. I know you will."

"Well I'm glad someone does," Grantaire tried to joke, but the weakness in his tone made the comment fall flat. "How's Jehan?" he asked quickly, trying to draw his friend away from the minefield that was their previous topic of conversation. Courfeyrac latched onto the new topic immediately, more than happy to swap onto this. He wasn't used to not knowing what to say but when it came to Grantaire and his drug usage, Courfeyrac felt himself clamming up instantly.

"He's good, just got his results back from the January exams. Passed them all, clever sod, even though he's taking crazy number of subjects and won't listen to anyone's advice to drop one."

Grantaire let him babble on about random things when he'd finished talking about Jehan, though Courfeyrac knew better than to let the conversation steer anywhere near to Enjolras, bar to say, "'Ferre says that if you're okay you're to go round to his at weekend for dinner or something. He's the flat to himself - E went to stay with a cousin or some other relative because he's work experience on the other side of the city. Honestly I just reckon 'Ferre wants some male company, stuck alone in the flat with only two girls for company. Crazy git."

"Maybe," Grantaire offered as an answer after a few seconds silence, not wanting to either accept the invitation due to how he still felt but also not wanting to refuse for fears that Courfeyrac would hear that and blow up how ill Grantaire felt.

As good a friend as Courfeyrac was and no matter how much Grantaire enjoyed his company, Grantaire was still thankful when he left after an hour and a half, the subjects of conversation available to them having dried up ten minutes before. Grantaire closed the door behind him with a final farewell and turned to lean back against it, sinking to the floor and resting his head against his knees almost immediatel afterward.

"Fuck," he mumbled, hands forming fists and nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood as he once again fought the wave of need that washed over him.

* * *

By the following morning those nails had been bitten down to almost nothingness in an attempt to distill the cravings as Grantaire once again failed to sleep. It was that day when the nausea started, Grantaire spending two hours curled up in a ball in his bathroom, occasionally leaning over to throw up.

On the third day, he couldn't take it anymore. He hadn't eaten anything for days yet couldn't stop from retching and sometimes bringing up a bit of bile, he daren't leave the bathroom for longer than fifteen minutes due to the diarrhea that had started during the night, he had yet to manage to sleep, and the cramps and muscle aches were never ending. The anxiety he felt was crushing, an agitated Grantaire unable to stop checking the door to make sure it really was locked. What he was afraid of he couldn't say, but it just wouldn't subside.

Grabbing his jacket, Grantaire practically ran out of the house, heading for the bar he'd heard his previous flatmates discussing. Once inside he skulked in a corner, a massive internal debate going on inside his head before he finally approached the man who looked to be the most likely candidate for a dealer.

It took the man just one quick glance at Grantaire before he was laughing loudly, Grantaire's look of intense need, flushed face and dilated pupils giving him away instantly.

"Tired of trying to quit boy?" he chuckled, laughing even more at Grantaire's sheepish nod. "Bloody foolish of you if you ask me. Take some advice off me - don't bother. Here, you'll feel better after this." He threw a small bag at Grantaire. "First one's on me, simply because you look like shit. After this, you pay. I'm here every night after seven." He raised one eyebrow after Grantaire didn't just thank him and leave straight away. "Can I help?"

"I need a needle," Grantaire muttered, so quiet the dealer almost couldn't hear him.

"Babet! A needle for my young friend here." Grantaire nervously accepted the needle shoved towards him by the tower of a man standing behind the dealer, mumbling his thanks to them both. "Now get out."

Grantaire wasted no time, dashing home as fast as he could and preparing the heroin as quickly as he dared, not knowing he'd been seen at the bar.

He slumped down against the front of the sofa as he injeected the drug into his arm, feeling every muscle in his body relax as it entered his system and spread throughout his body. Grantaire sighed with relief as he felt himself finally start to slip away into a sleep he'd craved for days.

* * *

Enjolras paced round the room he'd been told to wait in, unable to stay still as he took in everything he could as he gazed up at the walls.

"Welcome to Westminster," a voice said from behind him, making the student jump and spin. "I take it this is your first visit?" the woman standing there inquired, making her way over towards him.

"Yes," he replied, shaking the hand she offered. "I'm Enjolr-"

"I know who you are. I'm Miss Gray, Mr. Parson's personal assistant." Enjolras couldn't help it. At the news of who he'd be working with his jaw dropped slightly, making Amy Gray smile slightly. "His meeting finishes in five minutes. If you'd follow me, I'll take you to his office."

Enjolras followed silently for once. Carl Parsons was famous for his unrelentless attack whenever he chose to speak out against someone or something. Though only twenty-seven he'd replaced Dennis Skinner at the previous elections when the Labour MP spoke of his desire to finally retire, and within weeks had inherited not only his seat but also his nickname - the Beast of Bolsover. Enjolras had been following his career since he'd first been mentioned as a candidate to replace Skinner and was so excited at having the chance to meet him that he hadn't even noticed they'd arrived at an office until a strong voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Ah, Amy. That meeting solved nothing, I need you to pass on a message to Frank telling him so along with this folder."

"Yes sir," she replied smartly, taking the folder from him and leaving instantly. Enjolras hesitated in the doorway, not sure as to what he was meant to do now.

"Well don't just stand there boy, we haven't all day," Carl snapped, looking Enjolras up and down as he entered the room and closed the door smartly behind him. He looked like just another rich pretty boy who'd be better off shadowing some Conservative back-bencher who took their nanny out canvassing with them, but if Lamarque had sent him then Enjolras must be something different. "So you're the student Lamarque suggested I choose. You're the first one I've accepted since being elected, so you'd better not let him down."

"I won't sir," Enjolras said confidently. "What exactly am I going to be doing this week?"

"Following me, what else do you think shadowing someone means?" Carl rolled his eyes. "Dear God, I thought you were meant to be intelligent." He glanced over at his clock and stood. "Come on, I've fifteen minutes spare. I'll give you a quick tour so you won't get lost, and you can tell me what you think of the bills our idiot of a Prime Minister wants to bring in."

* * *

Their talk that first morning had felt like something of a test, a test which Enjolras could confidently say he had passed as by the time they reached Carl's office again, he was starting to look at the student with some respect in his eyes. What Enjolras didn't know was that his answers to Carl's questions had determined what jobs he would have to do that week, rescuing him from the boring jobs normally reserved for students and instead elavating him to what Amy nicknamed "the fun stuff", with Enjolras accompanying Carl to various meetings (both formal and not) and writing up notes on everything he heard.

Wednesday morning he was starting to prepare for his lunch break when Carl called him over.

"Make yourself look smart," he told Enjolras. "We're going to PMQs."

"Am I even allowed in?" Enjolras asked, shocked. "I mean, I thought only MPs were allowed in."

"I talked the Speaker into allowing it. Bercow's a good enough man and agrees that you'll learn far more from this than from sitting in my office waiting for me to come back. I have a question in for today as well, hopefully I'll get to ask it."

"Well if I have permission, then I'll gladly come," Enjolras said with a grin. To actually enter the House of Commons would be a dream come true.

"Lamarque said I'd like you," Carl said thoughtfully as they made their way through Westminster. "I didn't think I'd agree with him, so well done on changing my mind. Have I changed yours yet?"

"On becoming a politician?" Enjolras shook his head. "No, though I'd like to be able to actually change things."

"If you can't change things, then make them sweat," Carl told him. "That's my belief."

Once inside the House of Commons, Carl had to nudge Enjolras to stop him from staring around him in amazement, nudging him towards their seats on the front row of the Labour benches. Enjolras could hear the whispers starting at his entrance but ignored the backbenchers completely, instead focusing on the main players standing nearby, deep in discussion.

"The Prime Minister is incapable of answering a straight question," Carl murmured in Enjolras's ear, making sure no-one else could hear him. "Or at least, none of us think he is. His deputy is as big an idiot as him, if not more, but we don't have to deal with him today. The Speaker is the only Conservative in this building who knows what he's talking about really, shame he can't join debates."

Just then, the Speaker himself stood and ordered silence for the Prime Minister's opening speech before opening the floor to questions. Enjolras sat in silence, simply listening and taking in everything said around him as every question was successfull deflected. Then he heard the words:

"The Right Honourable Member for Bolsover."

Carl stood and twisted slightly so he was facing towards the Prime Minister fully, hand already slightly raised as he set off.

"We are only one year into Tory rule and yet the number of billionaires in this recession-hit Britain has gone up by twenty - an increase of 37%! Whilst out there, in the real world, inflation has gone up through the roof, there are no jobs available to honest hard-working British people, thousands of blind people are having to march through the streets of London in order to simply hang on to their disability living allowance - the only thing helping them survive in some cases. How is this acceptable? What a savage indictment of this lousy, rotten-"

It was at this point that Carl was drowned out in the noise coming from the previous benches. He sat back down next to Enjolras, a small but satisfied smile flashing across his face as the Speaker stood and demanded order and silence before the Prime Minister stood to reply, completely skirting round every topic Carl had brought up as he did so.

"Well that was a success," Carl said conversationally as the pair left the House and headed back up to his office.

"A success?" Enjolras repeated. "But you were cut off and he didn't answer anything."

"Maybe, but it's given the people that little bit more fuel to use against him, especially seeing as how he answered nothing. In politics, that counts as a success. If you bring enough things to the notice of the people, both those inside the House and outside, then you can eventually bring about change."

* * *

"That friend of yours, Grantaire," Eponine had started, glancing over at Combeferre as she served him his Mocha. "You should probably know, he's doing drugs."

"I know," Combeferre replied, taking a sip and wincing at how hot the drink was, wondering if he'd ever learn to leave the coffee to cool slightly before trying to drink it. "But he quit."

She shook her head quickly. "'Ferre, you don't understand, I saw him. Yesterday. He was at my parent's bar, and I watched my father give him drugs. He looked rough so that's probably why."

Combeferre stared at her for a moment before bolting for the doors. He ran through the streets, grateful for the crosscountry he'd taken part in during college which meant he wasn't completely out of breath when he arrived at Grantaire's flat. Hammering at the door, he waited for all of ten seconds before knocking again and was seriously considering knocking the door down when Grantaire finally pulled it open.

"Wha-" he started demanding, but he trailed off into silence when he saw Combeferre standing there, grim expression in place. "Oh," he sighed, trying to work out the chances of his escape. Realising just how low they were, he opened the door even more and stepped back. "You'd best come in."

"You're a bloody idiot," Combeferre hissed as soon as he was inside, only just managing to curb the urge to grab Grantaire by the collar and shake. "Do you want to kill yourself? Because there are easier, and cheaper, ways of doing so. Think about your sister. How would Amalia feel about you lying here dead from some overdose?" He jabbed at Grantaire's chest with one finger. "There was a reason why you quit."

"Yeah, because you told me to," Grantaire snapped back. "I tried, okay? I tried, and I failed. End of story."

"Then end of me helping," Combeferre said firmly, voice slightly cold on purpose. "I warned you, 'Taire. I'm only helping you if you're clean. There's no way I'm helping you kill yourself."

"But I can't do this!"

"Yes you can!" They were both practically shouting by now. "I have faith that you can! I told you to ring me if you ever needed help with this, so why the heck didn't you?"

"Because I didn't want you to think me weak!"

"Oh, and you giving in and getting high is going to make me not think you weak is it?"

The pair glared at each other, breathing heavily.

"You can do this," Combeferre insisted. "I know you can."

"Not on my own I can't," Grantaire admitted with a small shrug. "I proved that."

"Then you stay with me for a couple of days whilst I sort something out. Enjolras is under a week into his work experience trip so you won't bump into him, relax." Combeferre helped Grantaire to grab a few clothes after the artist had hesitated and nodded slightly, before holding the front door open and locking the flat behind them.

"How did you know?" Grantaire asked quietly once they were driving back to Combeferre's.

"Eponine, the waitress at our cafe and a friend of ours, saw you. You bought the drugs off her father," Combeferre explained.

"So what do I do now?" came after a moment's silence. "Because I think I've made it pretty damn obvious I can't be trusted on my own. I'm not strong enough."

"I think I have you a flatmate," Combeferre told him. "Yes, I know that flat is only small, but it'll only be until you're clean. Tomorrow I'm going to see if he's willing to do it, but he did say he was looking for a new flat."

"What the fuck did I do to deserve friends like all of you?" he mumbled finally. Combeferre laughed at that.

"Be awesome to us for a year," Combeferre said simply with a small shrug. Grantaire opened his mouth to argue before sighed and closing it again. For once, he was going to just accept a compliment.

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Bossuet said, transferring his mobile to his other hand. "Your friend is addicted to heroin, tried and failed quitting, and now you want me to move into his one-room flat to keep an eye on him and try and help him to not quit again."

"Pretty much, yeah." Combeferre sighed. "Look, I wouldn't ask if I weren't desperate. Hell, if it weren't for Enjolras I'd have him stay here for a couple of weeks, but Enjolras would just make thing worse. And you said the other week you were looking for a new flat because you were with a load of wanker."

"True..." Bossuet considered the proposition for a moment. "I get to meet him first, and inspect the flat."

"Deal."

"And you warn him about my bad luck beforehand."

Combeferre chuckled. "Okay, deal." He paused before continuing more quietly. "Thank you Bossuet. I owe you one, big time."

"More like your friend does," Bossuet grumbled, but he didn't correct him completely. Bossuet was more than happy to help out though, even if it meant living with someone he didn't really know. He trusted Combeferre not to send him to an axe murderer and, at the end of the day, Bossuet was always cheerful and happy with his lot in life. If he could help someone else to be the same, especially someone as embroiled in drugs as Grantaire, then he was satisfied.

* * *

By the end of the fortnight Enjolras was wishing he could stay forever. Whilst he had originally been unsure what direction to take his degree in, after working with Carl Parson for only a week Enjolras could see why Lamarque was so passionate about Politics.

"Tell you what," Carl started on his last afternoon, just before Enjolras was due to leave. "This summer, if you're free, you can come and work with me again for a few weeks. It'll be in my constituancy instead of here, but it'll give you more experience. What do you think?"

"I'd love it," Enjolras replied with a smile, shaking Carl's hand firmly. "Thank you sir."

"Then I'll contact you about it closer to the date. Here's my e-mail. Any questions about something Politics-based which Lamarque can't answer, feel free to ask, and I'll see you in the summer."

Enjolras left Westminster and headed for home, not knowing the dramas which had passed during the two weeks he'd been away.

**A/N: While Dennis Skinner and John Bercow are real people, Carl Parson isn't, hence why the others are only mentioned by name instead of featuring properly. Dennis Skinner hasn't retired, I just didn't want to write a real person in but love his rants so much. Carl's rant at PMQs (Prime Minister's Questions) is mostly stolen from one of Skinner's, with a few words changed and a couple of bits added in.**


	12. Sober Companion

Grantaire wasn't sure what to make of Bossuet. He liked him well enough, it was almost impossible not to with the other man's friendly and trusting character. But the man just took everything in his stride. No matter how bad his luck went, how many times he fell over, or who insulted him on that particular day, Bossuet remained permanently cheerful - something Grantaire was definitely not used to.

"Breakfast?" Bossuet called over when he heard a moan from the bed, flipping his pancake and cursing softly when it flopped.

"Fuck off," Grantaire groaned, burying his face in the pillow.

"It'll make you feel better."

"It'll make me throw up again."

Bossuet simply shrugged. "Fine, suit yourself."

Grantaire didn't reply again, instead snuggling further into the bed. Even that had almost caused problems on their first day.

_"Look I mean it, I don't mind sleeping on the couch," Grantaire had said as he unlocked the flat, repeating the words he'd spoken many times on the drive over._

_"No no no, I'm fine with it," Bossuet insisted. "Look, from what you've been like at 'Ferre's this past week, you're going to be thankful for at least one comfort, because this ain't a walk in the park."_

_"No shit." Dropping his bag down next to the bed, Grantaire had gestured round him. "Well, here it is, in all its glory."_

_"It'll do." Bossuet had studied his new flatmate. "You know, you're doing better than last time."_

_Grantaire had laughed hollowly at that. "Maybe I'm just hiding it better."_

That conversation felt like it had taken place weeks ago but in reality it was barely one. Grantaire had to admit that Bossuet had been useful during that week. Combeferre had had to deal with the worst of it, and the medical student had taken every problem in his stride as always, never once complaining. He'd sat up with Grantaire late into the night when his friend couldn't sleep, helped to distill feelings of anxiety or restlessness whenever they struck, spent two days by the artist's side treating the fever which struck and even holding back his dark curls when Grantaire couldn't control the nausea. Bossuet had taken over these duties when they'd transfered back to Grantaire's flat.

_"You ever watch Elementary?" the business student had asked. "You know, the American Sherlock."_

_"Trust me when I say that my old flatmates were not the kind of people to let that kind of show onto their TV."_

_"Well, in Elementary Holmes was recovering from drugs and rehab-."_

_"Is this going somewhere?" Grantaire had interrupted then. "Because if you're comparing me to Sherlock Holmes, you're going to be sadly mistaken."_

_"-and Watson was his sober companion," Bossuet finished as if Grantaire hadn't spoken. "She lives with him and helps him not relapse. Well, that's gonna be me."_

_"You know, you could have just said you were going to take over Combeferre's job."_

_"But that's boring."_

It was then that Grantaire decided he was going to like Bossuet.

* * *

"How's Grantaire?" Enjolras asked, walking into the cafe and sitting opposite Combeferre.

"Okay," Combeferre replied slowly.

"Let me guess. He still doesn't want to see me."

"Can you blame him?"

"I still don't know what it was I said that made him so mad!"

"Then I'm not going to tell you." Combeferre sighed. "Look, us arguing is stupid, and I swear we only argue over 'Taire. Can we just forget about him for five minutes?"

"Fine." Their conversation moved onto safer grounds, until it was Enjolras's turn to stop and sigh. "Okay, what's up? Because that is the fifth time in as many minutes that you've glanced at the door. Who are you waiting for?"

"It's Eponine's birthday."

"And let me guess, you have a present for her."

"Well yeah. She is a friend."

Enjolras shook his head. "If you say so."

"Guys guys have you got the letter yet?" Courfeyrac cried, bursting into the cafe and running over to them, breathing heavily.

"Which letter?"

"The one telling us we need to find new digs come September because only first years are guaranteed halls of residence accomodation."

Combeferre sighed. "Well isn't that just great. Might I suggest bringing the topic up at the next Les Amis meeting? Because none of us can exactly afford somewhere on our own."

"When is the next meeting?"

"Tomorrow," Enjolras replied absentmindedly, glancing over his shoulder when he heard the door open. "Your girlfriend's here 'Ferre." Standing, he smirked at his best friend as he blushed and started to stammer excuses, though he did grab Courfeyrac's arm and start to steer him towards the door, saying a quick "Happy birthday" to Eponine as they passed her.

"Please tell me nothing has happened between those two," the blonde muttered as they left the Musain.

"Not that I know of," Courfeyrac replied.

"Well thank goodness for that. She's underage, Combeferre should know better."

"So was Jehan when we hooked up and you never said anything about that."

"We've known Jehan since our first day together at college, and he turned eighteen the week after he went home. They are over two years apart in age. 'Ferre's going to get himself in trouble with her."

"Will you just relax," Courfeyrac said firmly. "Here's an idea: hook up with someone yourself. Maybe then you won't stress so much about it."

Enjolras glared over at his friend. "Sex is not something to be messed about with. You have to be sure beforehand."

"Sure of what? That they don't have STIs? Which is always a useful check but use a condom anyway, if only so we don't have to deal with mini-Enjys running round, because that thought is literally terrifying. Or that they're not just trying to get into your pants because, seriously Enj, that's going to be a problem with your looks. Or maybe that-"

"That you love them!" Enjolras cried exasperatedly, throwing up his hands. "Happy? Before I have sex with someone I want to be sure that I love them, that I want to be with them, that things are going to work out between us."

"Dude, you are going to be a virgin for one heck of a long time in this world with that attitude and the way you talk to girls," Courfeyrac breathed, staring at him. "Good luck."

Enjolras didn't bother correcting him.

* * *

"So there's a meeting of Les Amis tonight, but I don't want to leave you alone." Bossuet had a valid reason behind that, Grantaire having spent the day curled up in a corner of the flat, covered by a blanket as he fought the cravings for the drug whose withdrawal symptoms he was starting to manage to escape. "How are you feeling now?"

"Better," Grantaire mumbled as he accepted the glass of water from his flatmate. "Bar my head."

"That'll pass." Grantaire wasn't sure how Bossuet always managed to sound so confident about his symptoms and what would happen next, but the bald postgraduate never confirmed or denied any of his questions, instead just smiling lightly and changing the subject. "I still don't want to leave you on your own though, not with how you've been, just in case."

"I'm not going to relapse again," Grantaire sighed. "Trust me on that. I don't think I could cope with the look of disapointment there would be in Combeferre's eyes, and I'm not giving that bastard Montparnasse the satisfaction of me having to go back to them. Besides, there's no chance I could go through this for a third time. It would kill me."

"So absolutely nothing to do with the words "I want you when sober"?" Bossuet asked casually.

"How the fuck do you know about that?"

"You talk in your sleep."

"...Maybe a bit," Grantaire admitted. "The other reasons are still valid though," he added defensively.

"I never said they weren't, and I'm still not leaving you alone."

"Then I'll come with you."

Not knowing the history between Grantaire and Enjolras, Bossuet agreed to this idea. It seemed the perfect solution.

* * *

"You're a bloody idiot. The people will never rise and help you overthrow the government, no matter how corrupt it gets. Most people in today's society don't even give enough of a shit to vote in an election, never mind take part in a revolution that they feel would probably take away one problem and replace it with another. Who would you put in command anyways? Yourself? No, because you wouldn't want to be thought of as a dictator. The people? Because that always worked in history. That politician you keep talking about, who you worked with the past few weeks? I've heard of him - he doesn't want anything to do with being in charge. Admit it, you're wasting your time on a useless project. Take part in too many protests and attempted revolutions and you're just going to get yourself and everyone else here arrested, and what will that do for all your careers then? You think people will hire a lawyer or a manager with records like that? You think you'll ever get anywhere near Westminster?" Grantaire shook his head. "Just admit it Enjolras. Things. Like. This. Don't. Work. Protests don't work, they just get people killed and injured. So you may as well give up now and save us all a lot of time and effort."

Bossuet's head was buried in his arms, the bald man cursing his luck as he wished he'd decided not to bring the artist to the meeting, so he missed the look of shock plastered on Enjolras's face. He heard his reply though.

"Cynical attitudes like that are why this country has never gotten anywhere. Revolutions work. Look at France - they overthrew the monarchy-"

"And ended up with an Emperor, who we then went over and replaced with a new king," Grantaire interrupted. "Oh yeah, that worked oh so well."

"They had more than one revolution."

"And they didn't all work."

"Well look at other countries then."

"Oh, please say Russia. Because getting rid of the Tsar worked brilliantly for them."

"You know, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," Enjolras snapped.

"Well at least I have a sense of humour," Grantaire shot right back.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac shared a look, both considering whether or not it would be safe to interfere. Everyone else was watching silently, some wondering who exactly Grantaire was, others (mainly Bahorel) just enjoying the show.

"Tell me Grantaire, do you actually believe in anything? Or are you just hoping to make us all as cynical and nihilistic as you are?"

"I used to," Grantaire said softly, standing up. Enjolras barely caught his next words as he turned to leave the room, but they stunned him into silence all the same. "I used to believe in you."

"Meeting over," Combeferre announced as the door swung shut behind Grantaire, a flick of his eyes telling Courfeyrac to go after the artist. "End of show people."

"I could grow to like this group with more meetings like this," Bahorel grinned, not caring about the glare he received in reply.

* * *

"He was already drinking when I reached him," Courfeyrac told Combeferre quietly the following day, the pair sat at their favourite table in the Musain. "Bossuet got him home before he drank too much though. How was Enjolras?"

"Silent all the way home, then when he finally started talking he refused to even mention Grantaire or the meeting. We have to sort those two out Courf."

"Bahorel's already started the bets on when something's going to happen between them, and whether it'll be a kiss or murder. I mean, the sexual tension between them is thick enough you could cut it with a knife. Not that Enjolras will ever notice. I swear that man is practically blind."

"Which did you bet on?" Combeferre knew Courfeyrac well enough to know he'd have been one of the first betting, and probably be the one to win as well.

"Oh kiss, definitely. Not anytime soon, though if Grantaire keeps on coming to meetings..." Courfeyrac trailed off when he noticed Enjolras enter the cafe and look round. "I should probably be going. Jehan's about to finish his last lesson of the day and we've a Skype convo planned. See you round 'Ferre."

"Afternoon Enjolras," Combeferre said a couple of minutes later, not looking up from his book as Enjolras set his tea down opposite him.

"How did you know it was me?" the blonde asked as he sat in Courfeyrac's vacated seat.

"My psychic powers. What's up?"

"I think I know why Grantaire ran out that day." Combeferre put his book down at that, giving Enjolras his undivided attention.

"Go on."

"I was thinking back over everything we said, and I said that I wanted him when he was sober. When he asked what I'd said and I repeated it, he ran out. With his father I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised, but I think he took it the wrong way."

"With his father? Enjolras, you're just confusing me here."

"Well, everyone knows what his father thinks of gay people, I just didn't think Grantaire had inherited that, though ever since Christmas he's barely been near Courfeyrac."

"Since Christmas he's barely been near any of us," Combeferre pointed out. "So you think he took your comment the wrong way and now thinks you're gay, and because his dad has problems with gay people you think 'Taire now has a problem with you."

"Yes."

Combeferre couldn't help but laugh.

"It's not funny," Enjolras scowled.

"Oh trust me, it kind of is. Enjolras, 'Taire is gay. I guessed back at college, though he only confirmed my suspicians a few months ago. So trust me, that is not the way he interpreted your words."

"He is?" Enjolras sat there for a moment, thinking about this. "Really?" When Combeferre nodded, a quick smile crossed his face. It was quickly replaced by a frown. "Then why did he run out?"

"That is not my place to say," Combeferre replied softly, returning to his book. "If you want to know the answer to that, you'll have to ask Grantaire."

"He won't talk to me."

"You're an intelligent man Enjolras. If you think about it long enough, you should be able to come up with the answer."

But although Enjolras spent much of the next week desperately trying to work it out, he never got close to the obvious answer.


	13. Photographs and Memories

_Grantaire was bored. He'd spent his week's work experience sketching portraits and now, for the first time in months, he'd lost his muse. Glancing round the quad hadn't helped him think of anything, and not even any of the __students __were eye-catching enough to draw his attention. __This was why, when he heard the voices, he ignored the almost blank sheet of paper in front of him and started listening._

_"This is crazy! How can every table be full!"_

_"Well there is double the number of students this week. The Upper Sixth are back from their work experience now, so they're going to be sitting at the tables they claimed last year." The second student sounded sensible and very matter of fact._

_"It's still not fair." Grantaire couldn't help but smile it was so obvious that the first boy was sulking._

_"Not much we can do," a third replied, sighing as he did so. "We could maybe find an empty classroom or something. At least it would be somewhere to sit and eat."_

_It was this voice which made Grantaire speak, the golden tones standing out._

_"You can sit here if you want." They turned to face him, all looking surprised but none more so than the boy wearing glasses._

_"We couldn't do that," he insisted, revealing himself as the serious one, at the same time as the first speaker said "oh thank you!" very excitedly and the boy with the magical voice asked "Are you sure that's okay?" Grantaire had to stop himself from just staring at him, his perfect blonde hair and bright blue eyes instantly working to inspire Grantaire to sketch and paint until there was no paper left in the world. Not trusting his voice for a moment, he instead laughed at their very different reactions, praying that his own reaction at the blonde god standing in front of him would go unnoticed._

_Grantaire had never been more thankful for his baggy uniform trousers._

_"Yeah, I'm sure," he replied, eyes focused purely on his new muse. "You'll just get kicked out of any classroom." Realising just how much of his work was scattered over the table, Grantaire quickly started to pack it away, the most excitable of the friends having already sat down opposite him. "Here, let me move my junk," he said as he worked, the other two joining their friend at the table as he did so._

_"You don't have to go," one said quickly as he stood to leave. "I mean, it's your table after all," he muttered as they all stared at him, Grantaire included. That had not been at all what he had expected._

_"Please ignore our friend," the blonde said. "He doesn't always think before he speaks. I'm sure you have other people you'd rather sit with than a few kids like us."_

_Grantaire was loath to admit to three strangers, especially when he had a raging hard on for one of them, that he had no friends inside the __college and __few more outside it. Instead he rested his hand on the back of his chair and shrugged. "I don't actually mind either way," he said, as nonchalantly as was possible._

_"Then feel free to join us." The god offered up a quick smile. "I'm Enjolras by the way. This idiot is Courfeyrac, and this is Combeferre."_

_"Grantaire." He accepted the hand Enjolras offered, smiling slightly as he did so. "Welcome to our Sixth Form."_

_"We had that speech off the Head Boy last week, so you don't have to feel like you have to give us it again if you don't want," Enjolras replied. "Or are you the unofficial welcome committee?"_

_"One and only member," Grantaire grinned, sitting down again. "I'm just friendly, that's all. You needed somewhere to sit, and I persuaded my invisible friends to make space for you." The look on Enjolras's face made it clear that he thought the artist was being serious._

_"You'll have to excuse Enjy and 'Ferre, I'm still not sure if either of them actually has a sense of humour."_

_"Enjy?" Grantaire couldn't help the slight quirk of an eyebrow at the nickname._

_"Use at own risk," Enjolras all but growled, glaring at Courfeyrac._

_"Nicknames are always fun," Grantaire informed him, though he wasn't exactly planning on telling any of them that what he wanted to call the blonde was Apollo. "A lot of my family call me R for example, though there's still many don't understand why."_

_When it was Enjolras who explained the pun to both his friends Grantaire found himself liking the boy more and more._

_"So," Grantaire started, trying to stop himself from reacting to Enjolras any more than he already had done. "What tortures are you guys subjecting yourselves to under the guise of lessons?" As they rhymed off subjects and lessons Grantaire found himself relaxing and enjoying their company, laughing along with them as he warned them against some teachers and even offered notes to those taking any subjects he had. By the end of the lunch hour they were making plans to meet again the next day and, for the first time since starting college, Grantaire found himself looking forwards to something other than the end of the day._

* * *

_"This is a bad idea."_

_"No it isn't, it's one of the best ideas I've had in years."_

_"I'm not even old enough to be behind the wheel of a car!"_

_"We're on private land," Grantaire shrugged. "You're the one whose family owns a shit load of land, and you're the one who was expressing jealously over being the only non driver in the group."_

_"Because I'm too young," Enjolras muttered in reply._

_"Look, do you trust me?" Grantaire was almost surprised when Enjolras nodded but just about stopped himself from uttering a shocked 'really?'. "Then relax. You are going to be fine. You are a fucking expert at everything else, so you will be at this as well."_

_"What if I crash your car?"_

_"Then we never tell my father anything about this. In fact, let's just make that the one rule about this."_

_"Agreed."_

* * *

_"I don't get it."_

_Leaning back on the sofa, Grantaire couldn't help but smirk up at Enjolras._

_"Pardon?"_

_"You heard me the first time," Enjolras scowled. "I don't understand it."_

_"It's really not that difficult." Grantaire beckoned his friend over. "Come and sit here, let's have a look. Classics?"_

_"Well I'd hardly come to you for help with French."_

_"Pourquoi?" Grantaire laughed at the look on Enjolras's face. "I speak better German than French, but I do understand some. We went on lots of holidays when I was younger."_

_"I still wouldn't ask your help in French. Yes, it's Classics." Slowly Enjolras perched next to Grantaire on the sofa. "Why is this book supposed to be so amazing? Odysseus is a jerk, he cares more about him being King again than about his people, he pretends to be so in love with Penelope yet he sleeps with practically anything that moves. I mean for God's sake, he gets all his men killed! The only good thing about him is that he has a gift with words."_

_"He's not the only one with that skill," Grantaire murmured, pretending to zip his lips shut when Enjolras frowned._

_"Look, can you help or not?"_

_"Give me the notebook. You're not expected to like the book, just understand it. Yes, Odysseus is not a likeable character in this day and age, but we aren't Greeks. To the Athenians it was okay to have sex with another woman so long as they weren't Athenian. Now, having visited your house a few times, Xenia is something you need to work on. It's the basic rules of hospitality." Pulling out a pen, Grantaire started working his way through everything he remembered about The Odyssey and its themes, writing them down for Enjolras as he did so._

_Two hours later and they were still sat there. "Does that make more sense now?" Grantaire asked, leaning back and stretching._

_"Yes. Thank you."_

_"I still can't believe you actually had to ask for help," chuckled Grantaire. "Especially from me."_

_"Oh shut up." Enjolras couldn't hide his yawn as he glanced over at the clock. "You know, this is the first time I've actually worked at a study session at your place."_

_"I just might have to agree. Want some food?"_

_"Will it come with a film?"_

_"You choose the film, I'll order the pizza."_

_"Next time, I'm going to insist you cook," Enjolras warned. "After all, you're always boasting about how good you are."_

_"Next time," Grantaire promised._

* * *

_"Why the hell are you phoning me?"_

_"And hello to you too," Grantaire sighed._

_"It's your prom. You should be having fun with your friends, not hiding away talking to me," Enjolras replied shortly._

_"You guys are my friends. Now if you were all here, then I'd have fun."_

_"Well, Courfeyrac did say he was willing to dress up in a monkey suit if you were up for trying to sneak us in."_

_"I'm starting to wish I'd taken you up on that. They sat me on the rejects table and not a single person has spoken to me since I arrived here. I needed to sneak out and talk to you just so I can keep sane."_

_"One minute." Enjolras had clearly covered the mouthpiece of his phone as all Grantaire could hear was muffled sounds. "Okay, I'm back. How was the meal?" Enjolras carried on with random questions, listening to Grantaire's replies as if they were the most interesting words he'd ever heard. "Whereabouts are you?"_

_"The Atrium Hotel."_

_"No, where in The Atrium? I'm intrigued as I've been there before you see."_

_"The little room with comfy chairs, the one just by the ballroom."_

_"Ah, I know the one."_

_The next Grantaire knew there was a knock at the window and, when he turned, a grinning face in the dark there._

_"Bloody hell!" Grantaire swore, practically dropping his phone as he ran over to open the window. "What are you doing here?"_

_"Rescuing you from your boredom," Enjolras replied, climbing through the window. He was followed by Combeferre and Courfeyrac but Grantaire was too busy staring at Enjolras to notice them._

_"You look good," he managed in a choked voice. "You all do," he quickly changed it to, trying to act normal and not raise suspicions. "But teachers will know you shouldn't be here."_

_"Who cares about that?" Courfeyrac shrugged. "If they throw us out, we can all just go back to Enjy's and party there."_

_"We just want you to enjoy your prom," Enjolras said softly. "Think you manage that?"_

_"I can now."_

* * *

_The four were standing in a circle on the dance floor though only Courfeyrac and Grantaire were dancing when Time Of Your Life started playing. Instantly the pair grinned practically as one, both reaching out for a friend and ignoring their protests. Grantaire managed to snag Enjolras, pulling him closer and laughing as the blonde protested weakly._

_"I am not dancing if they play anything romantic," he warned, though it was impossible for him not to smile at his friend._

_"You never know," Grantaire chuckled. "After all, it's something unpredictable but in the end is right."_

_Enjolras smiled at the singing. __"I hope you had the time of your life," he murmured softly in reply._

_Grantaire had never wanted to kiss him more than he did at that moment._

_"I have," he whispered in reply, glancing down. As he looked back up at Enjolras though, taking a deep breath ready to speak the words he'd kept hidden all year, the next song started and the moment was ruined by Courfeyrac practically throwing himself at them and singing along._

_Badly._

_"Fucking Rick Astley," Grantaire groaned, regretting his words at the evil look which crossed Enjolras's face. "Don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare."_

_"Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you mfph!" Enjolras glared at Grantaire as he muffled the singing by jamming his hand over the blonde's mouth._

_"No singing," he warned. "Besides, I thought you weren't dancing to anything romantic."_

_Enjolras narrowed his eyes and quickly licked Grantaire's hand, knowing it would make the artist move his hand._

_"I'm not dancing, I'm singing," he retorted._

_"Dance with me and I'll let you sing," Grantaire compromised._

_Enjolras only considered it for a few moments. __"Just this song," he allowed finally._

_As the chorus rolled round again and Enjolras sang along quietly, Grantaire tugged him closer and started to sing himself._

_"Never gonna run around and desert you."_

_After it was over, Grantaire hugged his younger friend and whispered "I mean it you know. Maybe I'll be leaving for London soon, but I won't forget you guys. I promise."_

_"I'll hold you to that," Enjolras smiled. "Like I'd ever let you forget us. You're one of my best friends after all." He sighed. "I'm going to miss you."_

_"I'll miss you too kiddo."_

* * *

_Grantaire was surprised to see his trio of friends standing outside the __school__._

_"You guys don't get your results for three hours," he pointed out. "Why are you here?"_

_"For you," Courfeyrac said in a 'duh' tone._

_"We wanted to be here, so you weren't on your own," Combeferre added. __Enjolras kept silent but smiled at his friend._

_"Well thanks guys," Grantaire muttered, touched._

_When he read his results, Grantaire turned to them with a perfect poker face on._

_"It's okay," Enjolras said instantly, stepping forwards and hugging him._

_"You're right," Grantaire replied, grinning at Combeferre and Courfeyrac over Enjolras's shoulder as he hugged him back. "Because I got in."_

_"But that's great!" Enjolras practically yelled in his ear, hugging him even tighter._

_"Congrats mate," Courfeyrac said clapping his shoulder, Combeferre echoing his own congratulations._

_"Well tonight we celebrate," Enjolras decided. "My place, seven o'clock. Sound good?"_

_"Perfect."_

* * *

Bossuet bit his lip as he sat up on the sofa and looked over at Grantaire. The artist's dark curls were splayed out around his face as he tossed and turned, lost deep in a dream and mumbling something under his breath. Finally deciding that he'd probably best wake him, Bossuet leant over and shook his shoulder gently.

"'Taire? Wake up mate."

"What is it?" Grantaire mumbled.

"You were dreaming and didn't look like you were getting much in the way of rest," Bossuet explained, moving back again. "In fact, you've been the same all week. What's up?"

"Nothing."

"You also talk in your sleep," Bossuet reminded him. "So that isn't going to work. How long have you known Enjolras for?"

"Not long," Grantaire lied.

"Then explain the picture of the pair of you looking happy which you keep in your drawer," Bossuet retorted.

"Since he started college," Grantaire sighed when he realised he couldn't fool the balding postgraduate, instead sitting up and running his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to neaten it. "He became my best friend for a year, then I left and fucked things up."

"After promising not to forget him," Bossuet guessed, remembering the sleeptalking from the previous night. "Was there a reason why you started singing Rick Astley by the way?" Grantaire flushed dark red at that.

"I was dreaming about my prom," he muttered, voice so quiet it was almost unintelligible. "That song played near the end of the night."

"So you've been dreaming about college all week?"

"Yes."

"I need to change my bet," Bossuet murmured to himself, shaking his head when Grantaire frowned. "Let's try and get back to sleep okay? The dreams don't seem to be bad ones so maybe ignore them for now."

"Next time there's a meeting you can go on your own," Grantaire decided as he lay back down again. He completely blamed seeing Enjolras again for the dreams and memories haunting him, memories he'd managed to push down.

They both knew he didn't mean it.


	14. New Digs

Grantaire didn't stick by what he'd said, instead showing up on time to every Les Amis meeting held which he heard about. Bossuet had tried apologising to Enjolras for telling Grantaire about them but Enjolras waved him off, saying that he was used to Grantaire's annoyingness. Bossuet simply smiled knowingly at that and wandered off again to join Joly. Grantaire still mocked everything Enjolras said and the blonde still retorted angrily every single time.

"You realise he's just trying to get a rise out of you," Combeferre had pointed out dryly one evening after a particularly bad argument. "If you didn't react he'd stop."

Enjolras never did listen to Combeferre.

Revision soon put a stop to the meetings though and a part of Enjolras was glad to no longer have to spend so much time around Grantaire with them not getting along. However exam season was tough, and he ended up missing the artist's cynical sniping which always helped improve his arguments and often gained him better grades in class than he would have originally received.

It was during the final week of exams when Courfeyrac arrived at the Musain with a slight teenager in tow.

"Everyone, this is Marius," he introduced, not feeling at all insulted when only Bossuet and Bahorel looked up. "He's been kicked out of his grandad's house so will be staying with me for a while."

"You should stop taking in strays," Grantaire laughed from behind him, pushing past the pair to drop a bag of art equipment on the nearest empty table.

"Like you can say anything," Courfeyrac pointed out. "I mean, you can't exactly complain seeing as you're one of the "strays"."

"Ah, but you weren't the one who adopted me. I adopted you," Grantaire replied instantly. "If you could have seen have lost you all looked that lunchtime then you'd agree with me as well."

Enjolras's head rose and his mouth opened to snap back a reply but before the words could leave his mouth Eponine had interrupted.

"Oh my God Marius!" she squealed, flying across the room to hug the bewildered boy tightly.

"Uh, 'Ponine?" he gasped out, hugging her back when he realised for sure who she was. "I haven't seen you in years! How are you? How long have you moved here, since you moved out? Did you take Gavroche with you? What are you doing with your life these days?" When she finally let go of him and smiled at her brightly. "It's so good to see you again."

Everyone present instantly felt sorry for Combeferre when they saw the look of happiness present on the waitress's face at those final words. Luckily the medical student was sat behind Eponine and couldn't see it himself.

Unluckily it was Combeferre who spoke next.

"Aren't you going to introduce us all properly then Eponine? Seeing as you already seem to know each other."

Turning, Eponine beamed at everyone. "Me and Marius grew up next to each other, until I moved out to the other side of town last year. His full name is Marius Pontmercy and you'll never have a more loyal friend, though he can on occasion be a bit of an idiot." Marius blushed at her words but still nodded in agreement, making everybody laugh.

"I'm a Law student, same as Courf," Marius added on. "Only at a different university." When he named it, Grantaire's eyebrows rose.

"I never knew my uni did law," he remarked. Enjolras rolled his eyes and murmured, "what a surprise," to himself under his breath, earning a glare from Bossuet, the only friend close enough to have heard.

"Well it's nice to meet you Marius," Combeferre said quickly before an argument could start, speaking more coldly this time. It was becoming more and more obvious to the student that Eponine had feelings for the boy she was standing next to, and Combeferre couldn't help the stab of jealousy he felt at that. "Now if you don't mind, some of us actually care about our exams, unlike Courfeyrac who doesn't care whose studying he interrupts." And gathering up his books he practically stormed out.

"Ouch," Bossuet whispered, Grantaire nodding in agreement.

"Um, yeah, nice to meet you too," Marius stammered as he left, confused by the abrupt change of manner by Combeferre.

"Ignore him," Courfeyrac suggested. "He's just stressed out by the exam he's got tomorrow."

"As are the rest of us," Enjolras snapped. "So I would suggest you reintroduce us in a week or so, when we actually have time to attempt to be nice."

"He has a point," Grantaire agreed, making Enjolras blink with shock. "Even us art students have exams and don't want to fail."

"Fair enough," Marius agreed.

* * *

"So I saw an advert for a house today," Joly mentioned at their first meeting after exams. "A pretty damn big one as well. Three floors, attic, basement and a garage, with ten bedrooms overall. They're advertising the rooms for renting, but when I asked they said that no-one else had asked so we could have the entire thing if we wanted." His enthusiasm was contagious and eventually even Enjolras was looking through the house's specifications.

"It looks good," he admitted. "The rooms are all a decent size at least, and the price isn't too bad either."

"It lets us all stick together," Combeferre mused. "That is, unless people want to split up. I mean, a year living in a flat together can be enough for most people."

"I like living with Feuilly," Bahorel shrugged. "He actually cleans up."

"And Joly's useful whenever anyone is ill," Courfeyrac agreed.

"As is Combeferre," Enjolras said softly.

"Are we inviting the girls as well?" Combeferre asked.

"Of course! 'Chetta's great fun, and Cosette seems nice enough."

"Joly's got a crush," Bahorel muttered in a sing-song voice, laughing when the medical student scowled and clipped him round the ear.

"Not funny and I do not!"

"Suuuure."

"Cut it out guys," Combeferre sighed. "I take it, Courfeyrac, that you'll want to invite Jehan to join us?"

"Of course."

"Invite 'Taire too, I like him," Bahorel grinned.

"And Bossuet," Joly added on.

"I'll put forward the offer," Combeferre nodded. "Anyone else?" Eventually they came to the conclusion that that was everybody. "In which case Joly, feel free to tell the guy that we'll take the whole house."

Everybody cheered at that.

* * *

"Most of us decided we wanted to move in as soon as the term ends instead of going home for the holidays," Combeferre informed the pair, wrapping his hands around the mug Grantaire handed him. "So if you do choose to join us you're welcome to move in whenever."

"Sounds great," Grantaire smiled, leaning back in his chair. Over the past few months he'd grown more and more relaxed, to the point where he was confident he wouldn't easily slip and relapse again. Combeferre was pleased to see him healthier again, though he still wished his friend would quit drinking and annoying Enjolras.

"What about the fact I won't be a student any more?" Bossuet checked.

"You're still welcome. You're one of us, that means you'll always be welcome."

"And Enjolras has no problem with me moving in?"

Combeferre hesitated. "None that he's made public," he replied. "It's not that he doesn't like you, it's that you frustrate him, and you do it knowingly and on purpose. I know for a fact you don't even believe half of what you're saying."

"He's fun to wind up." The artist shrugged. "In which case, count me most definitely in."

"Great."

* * *

The day of actually moving in together was complete and utter chaos, as had been expected. Joly panicked over whether the house had been cleaned and immediately started scrubbing the kitchen, Courfeyrac inserted himself into his bedroom doorway shouting "you shall not pass!", and whilst Bossuet tripped up the stairs Bahorel and Feuilly were busy fighting over who got the marginally bigger basement room. (For the first time in his life, Feuilly won.) The girls were happy to hang back and let them at it.

Marius had moved out again after only a few weeks of sharing with Courfeyrac, having patched things up again with his grandfather, and no-one had complained, not being sure if the house would have fit them all otherwise.

Grantaire strolled in two hours after most of the friends, using packing up his artwork as an excuse for being late.

"You're not the last, that's Enjolras," Combeferre replied, glancing at his watch again. "Who should be here any time now."

"But there's no rooms left," Feuilly pointed out. "The girls took the last two, down in the basement opposite us."

"There must be, the guy said it was a ten bedroom house. Unless the garage is meant to double as a bedroom." Joly wandered away again looking puzzled, planning on cleaning out the first floor bathroom this time.

"We've been through everything," Courfeyrac butted in. "No other rooms left."

Grantaire sighed.

"Just as well I didn't get rid of my flat immediately," he shrugged, ignoring their apologies. "Come on then, gimme the tour. I'll guilt trip you later." He winked at them all.

They'd just left Combeferre's room when Enjolras came charging up the stairs, red in the face.

"What does Bossuet mean there's no rooms left?" he inquired, looking round the group.

As Combeferre explained the situation, Grantaire continued to explore.

"Uh, guys," he called over, laughter barely hidden in his voice. "Did no-one think to check behind this curtain?"

Combeferre blinked owlishly when he saw the spiral staircase hidden in the alcove by the long red curtain.

"Shall we investigate the attic?" he suggested, ignoring Grantaire's sniggering.

Courfeyrac whistled when he saw the size of the first room they entered up there.

"Swap," he demanded, looking from one friend to the other.

"Fat chance," Grantaire snorted, already making his way to the other room. He stood in the doorway and stared silently for a moment before grinning. "Perfect," he murmured, admiring the huge skylight that filled the room so brightly. The room was slightly smaller than the last one but he didn't care, already planning where his easel was going to stand.

"What's that other door too?" Combeferre asked, pointing over Grantaire's shoulder. "Enjolras has a bathroom in the corner of his, maybe it's something similar?"

"Box room," Grantaire called out seconds later, having stuck his head round the door.

"Nice, so we got a spare if anyone comes to stay."

* * *

It wasn't until the next morning that Grantaire worked out the problems with his new living arrangements.

"Fuck," he groaned, practically slamming his door and leaning against it. Closing his eyes was a bad idea he decided when all it did was tattoo the image of Enjolras sprawled out in bed wearing nothing but a pair of criminally tight boxer shorts onto the back of Grantaire's eyelids, and he snapped his eyes open again. "What the fuck do I do now?" he mumbled, sinking to the floor, back still against the door. He couldn't take the cold shower he needed, because the bathroom was in the corner Enjolras's room. Nor could he escape to a lower level of the house, because the stairs were also in Enjolras's room. "You really didn't think this one through R," sighed Grantaire as he ran a hand through his tangled curls. The safest option, he decided, was simply to wait Enjolras out. After all, the other student had to get up eventually.

Two hours later Grantaire heard the shower start. That was, he thought, the last time he ever tried to wait. As he listened for the shower stopping and the creak to say the blonde had gone downstairs the artist cleared away his pencils and papers, trying to ignore the fact that any face he'd drawn was haloed with blonde curls.

_I'm screwed,_ he decided.


	15. Heatwave

Grantaire grew quite used to sneaking through Enjolras's room in the early morning, whether it was sneaking out or sneaking in to his own room. He knew which steps and floorboards creaked and once when tipsy proudly boasted that he was like a ninja in the dark.

"Maybe once you've reached the attic stairs, but you always trip passing my room," Bossuet muttered darkly, ignoring Grantaire's protests about things being left in his path and missing Courfeyrac and Bahorel's identical evil smirks.

The heatwave starting caused many problems in the house, most of which were the fault of the electricity breaking. Enjolras never seemed to realise why or even that Grantaire had a problem every morning as his sleepwear stayed as just boxers and, as the temperature rose, the sheets started being kicked off more and more. Grantaire learned to simply avert his eyes, think about rabbits and snakes (the only creatures he was afraid of) and move fast when in the blonde's bedroom.

"Fuck this," Bahorel groaned two days in, yanking off his t-shirt and throwing it at the mains box. "No fans, no ice, and no showers. How the fuck are we supposed to survive this?"

"I am moving to Eponine's cafe, because she has air conditioning," Grantaire announced as he passed the other student and left the house, t-shirt draped round his neck. "If I don't come home tonight, I'll be under a tree someplace cool. Call me when I can have a shower."

"Wait for me!" Courfeyrac howled, throwing himself down the stairs and onto the artist's back, making him stumble forwards several steps.

"Get off me you great lump, you're making me all hot and sweaty!" The pair started mock-fighting, causing much swearing when they knocked into a tray of drinks.

"Seriously guys?" Combeferre sighed, desperately trying to mop some of the water off his textbook. "Five minutes of peace, that's all I ask for. Just five minutes."

"Courf leaves next week, we can all have peace then," Cosette called over from the hammock she'd claimed as her own. There had been many challenges at first, but after Feuilly's attempt at stealing it during an outdoor Game of Thrones marathon and Cosette's subsequent nerve pinch which left him limping for a week, everyone had agreed on its owner. Some had even started calling her Dany, a nickname which never failed to make her laugh.

"If I'm a Targaryen, then Enjolras is clearly a Lannister," she retorted when she first heard the name, earning the entire household a rant about the Lannisters from the man himself. Ever since that none had dared compare anyone bar Cosette to a Westeros house, though Joly and Grantaire had secretly agreed to always ally their respective houses of Baratheon and Stark.

"When is Jehan arriving?" Grantaire gasped as he wriggled out from under Courfeyrac's flailing.

"In three weeks, when Courf comes back."

"You are the most beautiful of all secretaries," he informed her with a bow and a kiss to the cheek, not noticing Enjolras watching from the doorway. "Now, I shall attempt leaving again. Good day people."

* * *

Grantaire held to his threat, spending the next two nights sketching in the park by the light of a headtorch and only returning home when Cosette spammed his phone excitedly informing him about everything she was now doing using electricity.

"HiguysbyeguysI'mgoingforashowernowseeyouinhalfanh our," Grantaire yelled in one constant breath as he charged through the front door and up the stairs, dumping his art bag in Enjolras's room as he dived into the bathroom. He swore visciously at the shower as it took its time turning on, his clothes having already been discarded in a heap by the door.

The low groan of pleasure Grantaire let out when he slipped under the water was loud enough to pass into the next room, making Enjolras blush bright red. He cursed his timing, having only gone up to fetch a book, but the idea of what Grantaire was doing to cause those sounds made him linger. It never occured to him that it was simply something as innocent as running water, Enjolras not having been too bothered by the lack of his shower the previous few days.

Forcing himself to leave the room before Grantaire left the bathroom and caught him, Enjolras headed straight for Combeferre's room.

"This isn't working," he said instantly, pacing the room. "Grantaire living in the next room to me, us sharing a bathroom. I mean, he gets home at stupid times in the morning, on the nights he didn't go out he then gets up at silly hours to sit and paint the sunrise, he is constantly playing music whenever I'm trying to work, and you should have heard the noises that were just coming from our bathroom. I can't cope with this 'Ferre. He's going to kill me."

"Enjolras, you should just talk to him," Combeferre sighed, wondering just who he had killed in a previous life to have earnt himself this particular problem as Enjolras shook his head firmly.

"No. God no. I mean, I'm his old kid best friend who he doesn't even like these days. Why the hell would he want to date me?"

"Maybe because the sexual tension between you is thick enough it's practically visible by the naked eye," Combeferre muttered under his breath, luckily unheard by Enjolras. "Look, do you trust me?" Enjolras nodded silently. "Then trust me and talk to him."

* * *

Enjolras's bedroom was dark when Grantaire left the bathroom, the only light coming from the lamp next to Enjolras's bed. The politics student was sat on the bed waiting for the artist and Grantaire almost gulped at the serious look on the blonde's face.

"Erm, hi?" he muttered, voice coming out slightly higher than normal. "Can I help?"

"We need to talk," Enjolras announced. "We have barely spoken since we moved in here, and we definitely need to talk."

"What about?" Grantaire asked nervously. Considering their normal topics of discussion, he was worried an argument was about to start.

"Will you sit down?" Grantaire silently perched on the edge of the bed and raised one eyebrow at his friend. "Okay. So... Combeferre says I have to talk to you. About... us. Our relationship- friendship!" Enjolras corrected quickly. "Friendship. Um."

"For someone normally so confident, you really are hesitating a lot," Grantaire smirked, leaning on one elbow. "Please, continue."

"He tells me you're gay," the blonde blurted out after a few moments of silence. "I've been thinking about what I said that day and why you ran out, and I thought you left because you took what I said the wrong way, you know with your father being homophobic and all that. However when I told Combeferre that he said you're gay, so I guess I still don't really know why you left." Grantaire stayed quiet for a few minutes while he worked his way through that, eventually nodding.

"Okay. Go on."

"I... I think I am too." Enjolras's voice lowered as he continued speaking. "At least, there's one person I like, and they're male, so I'm assuming I am."

Grantaire's heart sank at those words.

"Lucky guy," he said, doing his best to keep any bitterness from his voice. Standing, he patted Enjolras on the knee and headed towards his room. He still needed a clean change of clothes before he could head downstairs to join the rest and drink his sorrows away.

"Wait!" Grantaire turned back to face Enjolras and almost jumped when he realised Enjolras had moved almost silently, now kneeling when Grantaire had just been sat. "I've only one problem," Enjolras admitted softly. "I don't know how to tell this person, because I don't know if they feel the same way."

"You have two options," Grantaire informed him. "You can hide away forever and watch that person live their life and be happy, or you can tell them and hope you can share something with th-Mmfph!" His words muffled as Enjolras lurched forwards and kissed him, hands fluttering helplessly for a second before settling on the blonde's waist. As he felt hands tangling themselves in his hair he set to kissing Enjolras back, mouth opening with a slight moan as Enjolras licked his way into the artist's mouth. It was clear to Grantaire that Enjolras had never done this before but the artist didn't care, too caught up in the sensations he was feeling to want to think about anything. When they finally had to break apart for breath they stayed only inches apart, eyes staring wildly at each other as they both breathed heavily.

Suddenly Grantaire threw himself backwards, ending up in the corner with one hand held up towards Enjolras.

"Oh no no no, you stay over there," he gasped as Enjolras started to move towards him. "Me? You actually like me?"

"Yes," Enjolras nodded. "Since we were at college. What?" He sounded defensive, seeing the shocked look now almost permanently etched on Grantaire's face. Enjolras started moving towards him again but Grantaire shook his head.

"You stay well away from me," he said quickly, not trusting himself near the other boy. Grantaire hated himself when he saw the hurt look flash across Enjolras's face, but he still wouldn't move away from the wall. Taking a deep breath, he asked the next question somewhat nervously. "You mean I could have been dating you for _over two years_?" When Enjolras nodded again, more nervously this time, Grantaire felt like swearing or drinking. Or both. "Well fuck me."

"Is that an offer?" Enjolras joked weakily, making Grantaire smile.

"I'm glad you followed 'Ferre's advice," he murmured, stepping forwards slightly yet still keeping his distance. "He's a good friend."

"You've spoken to 'Ferre," Enjolras said suddenly. "He knows why you ran out that day."

"Everyone knows why I ran out that day." Running a hand through his hair nervously, Grantaire moved forwards again.

"I said I wanted you sober," Enjolras whispered, stepping towards Grantaire as well.

"I took it the wrong way. I so desperately wanted you in my life and in my mind I decided it meant you wanted me, not that you wanted me as a friend. That was why I ran, because I suddenly realised I was wrong. Sorry."

"Sorry?" Enjolras's voice went high and shaky as he stared at Grantaire. "You bloody idiot! Of course I meant that I wanted you, I just changed what I said the second time because I was scared you wouldn't want me like that."

"Since I first saw you," Grantaire admitted. "You were so eyecatching, and then I got to know you as well." Both men had carried on moving whilst talking and were now face to face again, close enough to touch. When Grantaire confessed to that, Enjolras reached out for him again, loosely taking hold of Grantaire's arm. "Oh fuck this," Grantaire breathed, grabbing Enjolras's face and kissing him again, the kiss even more desperate and passionate than before. Both kissed like the other man was oxygen and they were drowning, clinging to each other as if they were the only thing holding the other up.

"I've never done this before," Enjolras whispered as they broke apart, foreheads resting together lightly.

"I'm up for taking things slow." Grantaire smiled lazily. "I honestly thought you hated me."

"There is a difference between infuriation and hate," Enjolras corrected. "Just... don't tell anybody. Please. At least, not yet." Enjolras's eyes were pleading as he looked up at Grantaire, practically begging the older student to understand. "Until I know what I'm doing."

"So is this us now dating?" Grantaire double-checked, unable to hide his grin when Enjolras nodded. "Ace." Realising he was still holding Enjolras close, he flushed and stepped away quickly. "Look, I kinda need to get changed but uh, I'll see you later yeah?"

"Yeah," Enjolras agreed, smiling back at him.


End file.
